All the Difference
by Nijaded
Summary: Nellie Lovett wouldn't die, and Sweeney Todd couldn't kill her. They ascended from the bake house alive, but would soon find the nightmares were just beginning. Attend the Second Tale of Sweeney Todd and his new life; with Nellie Lovett.
1. Dancing in the Bake House

_Note : Takes place (obviously) after Sweeney finds out the beggar woman is Lucy._

All the Difference.

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Dancing in the Bake House.

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_It's not a silly little moment.  
Can't seem to hold you like I want to.  
My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room.

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_

Dancing, twirling, spinning, oh, it was everything she could have imagined. Even with the blood running down his face, he still looked _so_ handsome. So perfect. And he smiled and smiled, his hands tight around her bodice, his fingers locked within hers, like he'd never let go.

Never let go… his eyes were so intense, burning into her, burning, and dark. So dark. Their footwork was perfect, never missed a beat, never tripped over a sly stone, no- they were perfect.

Yes, _they_ were perfect. They spun through the bake house, the firelight burned bright and hot, raged out of the oven, and they were perfect.

But who cared about the fire? Mr. Todd was dancing with _her_. He was smiling at her, holding her, singing to her, oh it was so perfect! No- they were perfect!

All her dreams were coming true. All her waiting, finally being paid off. He was hers. Finally. _Finally_. She had been his for so long, almost longer than she could remember. Since she was born maybe. She had always felt it. That fantasy girls get when they're small and playing in their mother's dresses. When she envisioned her prince, the man she had seen was Benjamin.

And watching him marry Lucy… that was the hardest thing she'd ever done. But none of that mattered now. _He_ was _hers_.

Perfect. Burning and perfect, and spinning, and revolving around the room. The smell didn't bother her, not the smell of the sewers nor the smell of the blood from his most recent victims. No, even now, he still smelt the same. The same as always did, the way Benjamin smelt. Men's spice and earthy musk, but oh-so sweet and _perfect_.

Hotter, the room was getting hotter, they spun faster. The faster they spun, the hotter it got. They were raising their temperature from their very magnetism, their very _love_ was giving her a _fever_.

A life with Mr. Todd, a life forever, growing old, sharing business, by the sea, a life of staring into those dark eyes where the fire burned when he turned. And the fire got bigger in his eyes, the reflection of the bake oven. Bigger and bigger, and hotter.

Hotter. So much hotter here, now, as they spun. Shivers were erupting on her skin, even though she was sweating in heat. Shivers from- from Mr. Todd holding her. They had to be from him. They were. They were?

Joy was slowly slipping from Nellie as the world stopped turning just for a moment, a split second, just long enough for her to realize: they were moving; moving, dancing, turning, spinning, yes, but they were moving towards the fire.

_Towards_ the fire. Oh- that grin! That grin he wore, why did it not look so happy anymore? It was mad, evil, insane, his grip was tight, no longer comforting and warm and protective, but it dug into her skin, impaling the nerves under her flesh. Bruises; he was hurting her.

Why did it not feel good? Why was that haunted look in his eyes so heavy?

So _hot_.

The fire- he- closer, closer, closer- what was he-?

Mr. Todd! His mask fell away. He wasn't happy at all! Closer to the fire- could he be thinking-

NO!

-what she thought he was thinking?

Oh horrors, beyond her sickest nightmares were licking her skin just like heat in the room- making her shiver, making her panic. Her chest heaved as they danced, trapped forever in a slow, melodic dance to hell.

Her skin burned from the heat emanating from the fire, raging, blisters rising on her skin, too close now, too close. They weren't dancing at all; the spinning was only a distraction. How could she be fooled? How could he do this to her? Why was he so angry?

She was only thinking of him when she told him Lucy was dead. She was a beggar now, a disgusting prostitute no longer in her right mind. Not fit for a wife, not fit to live with him, take care of him, love him- she was mad!

Burning. Relentless heat. Her skin, his eyes. She wasn't sure which hurt worse, the fire from the oven or the fire from his eyes, piercing her skin and peeling it away. What had she done? How- why- what- Mr. Todd!

His hands crept, one on her neck, the other around her waist.

"Really living it!"

As he tried to let go of her and toss her into the fire as she suspected, she grabbed onto him tight, one hand fisting into his shirt and the other wrapped around his arm, holding on for her dear life.

He growled in rage and tried to claw her off of him. But she wouldn't let go. If she did, she would die. His hand, it scratched and swung at her in attempts to get her off of him, while the other squeezed around her throat as fully as he could without a proper advantage.

His thumb was pressing into her wind pipe.

"Please, Mr. Todd- no! No, I didn't mean it, I'm so sorry!"

"Get off me!" He roared, and with a mighty force, wrenched her arm from his and managed to pull the other out of his shirt and threw her to the wall, where she landed with a sickening thud.

Oh, she _ached_… but Mr. Todd was coming near her, advancing on her like a predator. She scrambled to her feet, but only made it to her knees, and turned to make her way to the other side of the room as fast as she could. Towards the doors. Her escape. The only one.

But if she went that way, she would have to crawl over Lucy, the judge, the beadle…

"Oh, no you don't, my _love_," he spat bitterly and ran right after her and quicker than she could register, he had grabbed her around her waist and hauled her into the air, as if she didn't weigh more than a stone. She flailed around but he grabbed her by her arms and was nearly lifting her off the ground as he slammed her into the wall behind her. She kicked against him, struggling, fighting as hard as she could.

She knew logically that she was no match for him, but as long as she kept struggling, he couldn't move his arms or walk to the fire and he certainly couldn't reach for his razors. He had no choice but to attempt to hold her down until she was worn out and tired.

Nellie had no choice but to plead.

"Please, Mr. Todd, don't! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, please, please!" She begged, tears spilling from her eyes as she tried to think of some reason for him not to kill her. She would be willing to suffer anything, _anything_, at his hands, but not death. She couldn't handle that.

"Oh, and why should I spare you, my _love_?" Nellie cringed in actual pain from his words. "Answer me- Why?" He demanded, shaking her as if the answer would come out that way.

How was he so incredibly strong?

She still twisted helplessly in his hands, although her movements weren't as hearty as before. But her strength was not yet gone, and so long as she had life in her, she would use it and she would fight. She didn't want to die, not now, not by him, her love…

"Please, you must see reason, Mr. Todd! Lucy was as good as dead when you left! It killed her! She was a beggar woman, a prostitute- it's the truth!" She added quickly at his howl of rage, "She started sleeping with men for money- I saw her, Mr. Todd, and it was horribly sad! I tried to stop her, give her some of me earnings, but she just kept wailing about-about you and the Judge and never came back! I did all I could for her, but she was gone!"

"Oh, is that so, Mrs. Lovett? Then why did she call you 'the devil's wife?' Saying there was no pity in your heart?"

Nellie swallowed the lump in her throat. "Well… well, she wasn't paying the rent. It had been a whole six months- I couldn't keep her there out of the goodness of my heart. Times was hard-"

With a howl, he lifted her off the wall and slammed her back hard, making her head rattle and her breath catch in her throat. Her vision swam with his angry snarl.

"Enough! So you threw her out to the streets, where she had no choice but to make a living the only way she could," he raged at her, fingers closing around her throat once more.

She could feel her lungs screaming at her as she still recovered from being slammed into the wall. Needed to breathe, needed air- so badly-

"Not-nece-ssarily…" she croaked, digging her fingers into his skin at an attempt to relent his grip. But he hardly seemed to notice.

Mr. Todd only scoffed. "So the kindness in your heart held her hand out of the house, did it?"

"Please…" she whispered, "Let me… explain…"

He growled, but let go enough to let her speak.

Her chest heaved as she struggled for air and kept trying to escape his strong hold on her arm. Her muscles were so, so tired, but she wasn't giving up.

"I-I gave her a choice. There was a job opening in the market for a merchant to sell jewelry. I knew the woman who was hiring and I told Lucy I could get her a job there so she could pay rent and keep living here. But she refused, saying she would never leave the room and then… that night… the beadle came. She went with him, leaving Johanna upstairs all alone and I didn't see her for almost a week after that. I waited for her to return for Johanna, but she never came.

The next morning, the Judge sent the beadle and some authorities her your shop. I had watched over her through the night, but they barged right in and took her and later she was adopted that very day. I didn't see Lucy for almost a whole month and when I finally did see her, it was when I was running to the apothecary for my… for Albert. She bought some kind of poison and blamed everything on me, for making her leave, but I hadn't at all. I was gonna get her a job with decent pay, and help her get back on her feet but… but she wasn't having any of it…"

Nellie searched his eyes desperately, hoping to the Maker that he would believe her. It was the truth. It was. She wasn't going to lie to him anymore. What would be the point?

"She… she was gone. I mean… her sanity, it was gone."

Mr. Todd remained silent, but did not let up his grip at all. Was he listening? Was he actually considering her words?

She went on hurriedly before he changed his mind.

"So-so when you came to my shop, I told you she poisoned herself," she explained, "I didn't say she was dead, Mr. Todd, but I didn't want to cause you no more pain when you saw what became of your Lucy. I thought it would sadden you to see her that way!"

She was suddenly whirled around, and he glared into her eyes, pure, utter hatred burning into her own, with no help from the shadows of the fire behind him. The reflection of the flames must have been in her eyes now. She didn't like reminding him.

Nellie blinked rapidly.

"And how do I know you're not lying again?" He asked harshly, dropping her to the floor with no care at all.

She quivered and gave a dry sob as she landed and tried to get up, but he was already kneeling over her, pinning one of her shoulders to the wall and she heard the deadly, unmistakable sound of the razor coming out of his holster, and the flipping of it's switch. The glint blinded her for a moment as he raised it in the air, stopping when the razor was parallel to his eyes.

"I'm not lying; I've never lied to you. I said that Lucy took a poison but I never said that she died, Mr. Todd. It… that just wasn't entirely… truthful." She hung her head before going on. "I did what I thought was best for you-"

"Lies!" He roared and brought the razor down.

She ducked away just in time, rolling to her side and momentarily escaping his grasp. He became so concentrated when he was about to slit a throat, he lost himself to his subconscious. She tried crawling away, but didn't get far with his knees on either side of her hips. Then he pulled her hair back and guided her head back against the wall, exposing her neck fully to him.

She was losing him; he was losing his patience.

More words…

"If-if I had known it's what you would have wanted, I would have taken you to her, I swear! I just wanted to make you happy, I just wanted-"

"Then why would you lie to me?" He countered, pressing the blade into her skin, over her hammering pulse.

"Because I love you!" She sobbed, trying not to shift under the edge of the razor. He could control her with her fear. "I _love_ you, and I just wanted to make you happy… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, if I could go back-"

"But we can't, now, can we, Mrs. Lovett? Lucy is dead because of you, why shouldn't I kill you?"

Nellie thought frantically.

"I helped you get your revenge with the judge. I led everyone straight to your door and I helped you cover all your tracks. I took you in and cared for you-" her lip trembled as he pressed the razor in further. "I was willing to give everything for you, I love you, I just wanted you to be happy, I can't- please, Mr. Todd, don't kill me!"

He hesitated a moment, and as soon as she felt the tension against her neck lessen, just the slightest of blunders, she reached wildly up for the razor and closed her hand around it tightly and pulled it from his grasp.

She sprang to her feet, ran around him and backed away, knocking him back to the floor. She held the razor in her bleeding palm with no intention of letting go. She trembled and shook all over, her teeth chattered against each other in her mouth and she put her lips between them to stop the shaking, the deafening sound of hard marble teeth against hard marble teeth clamoring through the room.

Mr. Todd was so… so dumbfounded, so perplexed, so shocked, he didn't even more. He just sat there on his knees, his arm still at the spot where her throat was moments ago, his hand clutching the air where her hair used to be. His face was blank, lips parted, staring back into her shining, wet eyes.

"Please, Mr. T," she murmured again. "Don't kill me."

His head turned towards her and he stared at her with empty eyes before his head snapped back in laugher. Cold, humorless, taunting laugher. It only made her cry harder and frightened her more.

"Don't kill you? Mrs. Lovett, you're holding the razor now. I've got nothing else up me sleeve. I should be begging _you_ not to kill _me_," he chuckled darkly, his hands falling limp to his sides, though he remained on his knees.

Mrs. Lovett realized he was right. But-but that was just insane! She couldn't _kill_ Mr. Todd! She was not the killer, the murderer, that was him. He killed the folk and she baked them. She still backed away, terrified of him.

"Kill me if you like, Mrs. Lovett," he said bitterly. "I've nothing to live for."

Tears welled up in her again. How much more pain could he inflict on her with just his words? She wondered. She prayed he would stop this nonsense. If he couldn't kill her, and she wouldn't kill him, then they were at a standstill.

"I-I couldn't- I can't… kill you, Mr. Todd…" she whispered. The razor shook so much in her hand. Even if she were to attempt it, she wouldn't be able to make a right cut, her hands were trembling so much.

But more importantly, and more realistically, if she even went near him now, he would spring up, take back his razor and slit her throat like all the others. Like another one of his unsuspecting customers, like another old fool who fell into his trap.

She wouldn't be like them.

"Oh? And why not? I've just tried to kill you and I failed. It's only fair you get your turn," he shrugged a little helplessly, rising to his feet.

She backed away further, even further, to keep a great distance. She was already past the door and couldn't make an escape without getting frightfully close to him.

"And-And if I fail, you'll get your turn, and we'll go round and round until one of us kills the other, and that other will be me, 'cos I can't do it- I just can't, Mr. Todd…"

She sobbed, hiccupped, not daring to wipe her eyes and hide him from her vision. She couldn't give him that brief moment of advantage. At least with her eyes blurry, she could still see him.

He stepped forward. She stepped back. He moved to the right. She moved to the left. He laughed. She cried.

"What a deadly game we play, then, Mrs. Lovett. Who will be the winner?" He laughed mirthlessly, the sound reverberating through the horrid room, the horrid place. Oh, she just wanted to be out of there. The smell, it was forcing it's way into her nose now, making her dizzy and sick. The dim light, the fire light, all contrasted and heavy, and bright. It hurt her eyes.

Blood. The beadle's blood, the judge's blood, Lucy's blood… Blood never bothered her before.

"Why can't we both win?" She asked in a small voice like a child, backing away still.

She realized too late he was backing her into the corner of the room, with the beadle, the judge, and Lucy lying just a few feet away from them.

His palm rested on the stone beside her head and she flattened her hand holding the razor between her back and the wall. At least it would make it more difficult for him to try and take it from her.

"Both win? You and I both? And what do you suppose that would consist of?" He asked, his voice low, low, low, and silky. Too silky. Too sweet, too damn alluring.

She tried to collect herself.

"I'll do anything. I'll do anything you ask, as long as you don't kill me. Anything you want, you can have it, anything at all. I don't want anything from you, I just don't want you to kill me. I want it to go back to normal, I want-"

She was cut off by his fingers resting on her lips. She stopped crying. She stopped breathing. She stopped _feeling_ in that moment when the tips of his fingers rested on her lips. She had no idea what to make of it, not one clue as to what could possibly be going on inside his head.

"Anything, you say? Anything so long as I don't kill you?" He asked, much too softly.

She could only guess what he was implying, but she had to say 'yes.' She had to agree to prove she meant what she said.

Slowly, Nellie nodded.

"I see…" He murmured, "So if I told you to kill for me, you would?"

Nellie nodded.

"If I told you to make pies out of everyone in London, you would?"

Nellie gulped and nodded.

"If I told you to kill Toby yourself when he returns and all the police that follow him, you would?"

Nellie blinked away the tears and nodded.

"And what if I told you to never sing again? To never speak, or open your eyes, or laugh, or cry, or even breathe, Mrs. Lovett- if I asked you to do those things, would you?"

Nellie helplessly nodded.

"And if I told you to bleach your hair and wear white dresses instead of black and answer to the name 'Lucy,' you would do it?"

Horrified, Nellie stared back at him with wide eyes.

His mouth curled into a sneer, his teeth barred at her like a feral dog. What could she say? What could she possibly say? Did he really want her to do that?

…Could she do it?

"I don't think you understand my situation, Mrs. Lovett," he said in that low, dangerous, incredibly handsome despite all circumstances voice. "_I just killed my wife_. I killed Lucy because I thought she was a beggar woman, a person of inconsequence. And you lied to me- yes, lied- knowing what I would assume when you said she was poisoned. Because you _loved_ me. You didn't want to _'hurt'_ me. Right?"

Mrs. Lovett gulped, gasping for air in the tight space between them. Why, why was he pressing into her, his fingers dropping from her lips to her throat and closing around her windpipe just enough to scare her?

"But-" she gasped, "But if I had been there, I would have stopped you. I wouldn't have let you then- I would've told you before-"

Her words were cut off by his hand, squeezing tighter.

"Would you? How can I believe that? Why should I believe it?"

His eyes were so dark. Tunnels, they were, and she was lost in them as she gasped for air. How could she answer with his hand cutting off her words?

"Please-" she rasped.

His narrowed his eyes and let go enough so she could speak. It was barely enough, but she wheezed her answer.

"I've told you, I only wanted what's best for you," she sucked in big gulps of air. "Why would I have let you kill her? I admit, I let you think she was dead, but do you believe I would have let you kill your own wife?"

Again, he hesitated, confliction plain on his face. After being so close to someone, so intimate with someone for months, they had grown to understand each other. That was a fact that could not be denied. The words she spoke were sinking into him and she could read his face as he contemplated this.

"I'm sorry for what I did, and I'm so, incredibly sorry for what's happened," she apologized, careful not to mention Lucy's name now. She had to keep him calm, keep him thinking. "If I could go back, I would, but I can't, and I will do anything you ask."

He looked up into her eyes again, lingering, considering, really hearing her words.

She swallowed, her throat crushing into his palm as she did so.

"I'm not like all those customers, Mr. Todd. I'm not like one of them blokes who pop into your shop. I'm-I'm…" She trailed off, not wanting to say something to anger him.

"Ah, but Mrs. Lovett, as I've said before, we all deserve to die," he reminded her, though his voice was soft and distant, far away, still wrapped up in his thoughts and her words.

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to shift under him. "I know, but I don't want to die now, Mr. Todd. I don't want to die…"

"What's the difference whether you die now or later?" He goaded her, pressing closer into her. His body… it…

"That's all the difference," she breathed.

He looked surprised by her answer and stepped back, his hand coming away from her throat. Though it was gone, she still felt it; his mark, lingered there as heavy as his palm.

He was frowning, looking down at the ground as he walked away from her. The distance he was putting between them was like a boulder lifting up from her body that had been crushing her and breaking her bones. As he walked away, they were healing, the air was refilling her lungs.

She wouldn't call it relief just yet.

She glanced over at Lucy for a moment, thinking back on his words. She really did feel sorry. Before, she never cared. She didn't feel bad at all about saying Lucy was dead, because to her; she was. Lucy was as good as dead as soon as she took to the streets. But to Mr. Todd… her life had meant everything. Even though she had been a beggar, a prostitute, poor and filthy, he still would have loved her.

The thoughts running through her head now… her perspective on the situation had changed. But then, escaping death could do that to a person. Flip a world upside down.

She sunk to the floor in defeat, but kept the razor in her hand.

Just in case.

He noticed and looked over at her, like she was mad for giving in.

"Mr. Todd… I really can't tell you how sorry I am… even if you don't believe me… I see now…" she trailed off, swallowing more sobs. "I see how wrong it was… how wrong I was…"

He stayed where he was, solid as a statue while she cried into her knees. How had things turned out this way? So awful, so bleak, so heart-wrenchingly sad…

Sad.

She just sat there and cried. She couldn't do anything else. Her muscles throbbed from the struggle she'd been through, her heart ached for the man she loved and the horrible truth that she would now never have him because of what she had done. Her throat burned so terribly, inside and out.

What was the point now? She did deserve to die. He was right. He was so right. Oh, but she didn't want to. She was so afraid, so still full of life. She wanted to do so many things. Things she had wanted to do with Mr. Todd. Now, all crushed.

Crushed.

"I-I…" she tried to say more, but her throat closed and only sobs escaped.

She was consuming herself in her grief, a cocoon of her own sadness just for her. Wrapping layer after layer for protection, never to be unveiled again. Maybe she would live like Mr. Todd now. Thinking of nothing else but her grief.

The longest time had passed. She lost track of everything. She could no longer smell where she was, she was hardly aware anyone else was else was in the room with her, much less her would-be murderer and three dead bodies. Perhaps a young boy running around down in the sewers. All of it was gone.

Sob after pitiful sob racked her body despairingly until she felt like she would dehydrate. When she finally had the courage to look up, she gasped to see Mr. Todd kneeling right in front of her, staring at her with knitted brows, but an otherwise empty, emotionless face.

Despite herself, she felt blush rising to her cheeks. Really, what was the point of being embarrassed now? They were teetering on the brink of life and death between the two of them. There was nothing to be ashamed for if one, or both, of them were dead soon.

But he only continued to stare. Her face was a puzzle and he was trying to solve it. His mouth was set in a thin line to match his eyebrows and he was silent. So unyieldingly silent. Too silent. Too quiet. She had to…

"Mr.- Mr. Todd?" She rasped, her voice hoarse from crying. He needed to speak, if even to curse her, that look was taking apart her soul, and yet he continued to stare as if he knew nothing about her, not even who she was.

"Mr. Todd?"

His hand reached out and placed it on the razor in her hand. She flinched but made no move. He wanted to kill her… well, then she deserved it, didn't she?

After what she did, her lies, her deception. For her own selfishness…

His hand curled around hers and she just knew, _knew_, it was the moment. As soon as she let go of the razor, she would die. It was inevitable. She deserved it.

Mr. Todd said so.

"Anything for me…" he whispered tenderly, and the irony of his words and the meaning of them versus the croon in his voice was staggering. But he finally broke the silence, and though it didn't matter what he said because at least it was something, she obeyed, understanding his unspoken command.

Nellie closed her eyes and let go of the razor, her hand falling carelessly to the floor.

She waited silently for her justice. Petrified, shaking, at his mercy, she waited. Tears leaking by some miracle again, she waited. And waited.

And waited.

What was he waiting for? Why was he taking so long? She didn't know if she could take much more. She just wanted it to be over.

Was there an afterlife?

She couldn't stand it. She opened her eyes and looked at him through her wet lashes.

He held the razor in his hand loosely, still staring at her as before. The same expression, the same searching there.

She would undoubtedly be sent to the farthest, deepest pit of fiery Hell.

"You really would. You really would do anything for me, anything I ask," he stated, as if he was just now believing it. Wasn't it obvious? She was chopping up and making humans into meat pies for him, for God's sake. What more could he ask for but for her to do the killing for him?

Well, there was that.

She remained silent. What was there to say anyway? Why shouldn't her last words be 'Mr. Todd?' His name was what she had revolved her life around.

"You trust me, after all of this. This night. If you trusted me, why would you lie? What would… why?" He asked, more to himself than to her.

Surprisingly enough, she hadn't even thought of that. After he found out the truth and she struggled to survive, she was made known to the world for her ugly lie, what point was there in lying? It hadn't occurred to her to lie anymore.

Not even in the face of death. His face.

"You deserve to die, Mrs. Lovett," Mr. Todd said, finally, grabbing her hand and lifting her to her feet. She staggered back against the wall and he held the razor to her throat.

_'I love you,'_ she thought to him silently. Oh, she wished she could say it again. Out loud, in his ear, to whisper it…

His breath was so warm on her sweating, teary face.

His hand was steady, but it seemed the rest of his body was shaking. She might have been imagining it; it wasn't as if her mind shouldn't be frenzied in this state.

"And yet," he spoke, and a tremor ran through her. "I am reluctant to do it."

Hope welled inside her. It felt so inappropriate to hope right now, as there was a blade against her throat, but she still felt it rumbling in her stomach as she heard his words.

"Why?" He asked, again, to himself. "Why should I not kill you?"

He tore away from her and paced, forward, backward, close, far. Death and life, alternating between the room. She dared not hope now. Nothing was ever certain with him.

She desperately wished to be out of the corner, but daren't move.

His razor glowed in the fire when he paced toward her, the blood of Lucy still caked onto the blade under her own blood that was more fresh. She could only stare at it. The blood. Now dried and brown, mixing with her own. The blood of the two women he had ever been close to, no matter what he said about her now.

"I should kill you. I should slit your throat for lying. I should leave you for dead and leave this place and never come back and be happy that Lucy is finally avenged," he said, not looking at her once.

She quite agreed with him. And yet…

He roared in anger and pounded his fist into the wall, not but a few inches from her head, snarling and hissing in rage. After a few moments of a heated stare into the stones, his gaze softened, became almost sorrowful, and the razor slipped from his fingers, landing on the floor with a clear, bell-like ring.

"I can't." An anguished whisper, stealing away from his throat.

She stared, wide-eyed at his admission. Sweeney Todd… unable to kill? Even to someone who deserved it more than anyone he ever knew? Certainly she deserved to die more than the judge. Turpin destroyed Mr. Todd's wife but Nellie kept him from putting her back together. And now she was bloody well offering her throat to him and he couldn't even knick it.

Ironic.

"I can't. You deserve it, and I _can't_… what's wrong with me…?" He breathed, finally looking back to her. Sorrow, yes. Confusion, despair. All written on his face.

She took a hesitant step forward. He did not move. Another step towards him. No movement. Another. And three more, and there she stood in front of him, the razor just inches from her shoe, but forgotten between them.

"I think, Mr. Todd," she said quietly, in the most soothing voice she could manage, "the question is: what is wrong with _us_?"

His eyes searched her face, lost. Oh, it pained her so much to see him looking so lost. She wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, but did not. To comfort him, but did not. He could flip around faster than she could blink.

"Us…" he echoed, vacantly.

Her lips twisted into a half-smile that was more demure than anything close to happy or relieved or hopeful. "Has quite a melancholy ring to it, doesn't it?"

He continued to stare.

"Mr. Todd…" Now what could she say? "We've been through such an ordeal tonight. Entirely my fault," she added for good measure. "What say you we go upstairs, have a cup of tea, or perhaps a tumbler of gin, and wait for Toby to come out of them sewers?"

He slumped against the wall, an exhausted sigh escaping his lips.

"We can discuss it more in the morning after a night's rest," she added, "As long as you wake me up before you kill me, if you decide to go that way. Hmm?"

And seemingly with the last ounce of strength he had, he nodded and swayed to the floor, but she caught him before he fell. She managed to pick up the razor and close it, tucking it back into his holster; it's rightful place. Then, with determination, she led him out of the bake house, careful to leave the door open a crack for Toby, and the pair of them trudged up the stairs slowly into the kitchen.


	2. My Heart is the Worst Kind of Weapon

All the Difference.

My Heart is the Worst Kind of Weapon.

* * *

_He is salt and you are the wound.  
I'm the kind of kid that can't let anything go.  
I could dissect you and gut you on this stage.  
_

* * *

In the end, they both settled for gin. Nellie wasn't up to the task of making tea at the moment anyway, and preferred to just pour two glasses and bring them to the table.

Mr. Todd held the glass, his knuckles white, his eyes glossed over as he stared at floor in the dark room. She really hated seeing him that way, whether he tried to murder her or not. She couldn't stand just sitting there staring at him. Especially with all that blood on his face.

He looked gruesome- worse than she'd ever seen him before. Some of his shirts got particularly bloody, but he'd never some out his shop with more than a few specks of blood on his cheek. It made him look too… true to his character.

She got up and went to the linen closet and pulled out a fresh cloth. Although, she had to do some searching because there weren't too many of those. Most of them had stains on them, bloodstains. Incredibly difficult to get out with just soap and water. She used a considerable amount of bleach on all the white linens and his white shirts. And even though they had so many stains, Mr. Todd would try and get to the victims before they noticed anything too off.

After wetting it, she handed it to him. "You should wipe up your face, Mr. Todd. You look frightful."

He grunted in response and took the cloth. She sunk back down into her seat and polished off her first glass of gin. She grimaced, but started pouring another.

"This was the judge," he said vaguely, staring at the blood that had transferred onto the cloth from his face.

"Was it?" She asked, trying her best to sound interested.

"He came bursting through the door, right after I killed…" he fixed his eyes on the ground, his brows knitted together tightly. She didn't have to ask who he meant. "Wanted to know where Johanna was. Told him she was with you, would be up in a few minutes, but first… I got him into me chair. Pretty women… we would sing about pretty women, you see… and then he said to me, 'How seldom it is one meets a fellow spirit.'"

His frown became more of a glare as he recounted the story.

"I agreed with him, as much as I hated to. 'With similar tastes… in women at least.' That wiped the disgusting, arrogant smirk off his face. Panic… it flashed across his face as he shifted in his chair. He recognized me. Oh, he did. In one moment, his eyes widened and his eyes were clear with the newfound knowledge. He said my name. My old name, anyway… his hatred, his fear, his surprise, they all pumped my adrenaline, sending it racing through my arm to my razor. I wanted the last words he ever spoke to be my name, and the last ones he ever heard to be my name as well. I shouted. 'Benjamin Barker!'" He shouted just as he probably did at the time and breathed heavily before continuing. "And then I lodged my razor in his throat. Not once, nor twice, but again and again, and his blood, this blood, sprayed all over my face, drenching my sleeves, and I faced him and slit his throat and knocked the chair down. And the judge was no more. Dead. Gone; before my very eyes. Forever. Vengeance…"

He finished with a shuddery breath and a faint smile. Nellie had been so enraptured in his story when he looked over at her, she started in surprise. She mentally shook herself, his words echoing in her mind. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Well, Mr. T-odd," she corrected, still not feeling the time was appropriate for nicknames, "That is certainly a great tale. I'm… glad you finally- got him."

His eyes squinted at her in thought. She needed to busy herself.

She got up from the table and started lighting more lamps throughout the kitchen, as the darkness was becoming much too suffocating. Then she lit the one in the hall connecting the kitchen and the living room and also the closest one in living room. Her match ran out of flame, so she decided that would be enough.

It was something to keep her busy, something to keep her from doing the same thing as Mr. Todd. Now, she knew without a doubt, his mind was brooding away at everything that happened. Not particularly what happened with her, though. Probably didn't bother him at all. No, more than likely, he was recalling the memory of the judge, the only good thing that came of the night.

And if he was not thinking about the judge, he was dreaming about Lucy. Back in the day, his perfect vision of her now marred with a new image of a disgusting beggar woman with her throat slit.

There really was no way to tell which he was thinking of, but she was sure it was one of the two. Maybe even both.

Nellie had her own things to worry about.

Like Toby… and the shop, it was just filthy. She looked around with distaste, sipping her gin in small amounts. She really had to do something about it. Better than sitting around like Mr. Todd and consuming herself in God-knows-what thoughts.

Busy…

She started tidying up straight away. She shouldn't have been so lazy after the dinner rush. Though, Toby was gone on an errand and she ran the shifts all night long. No use complaining, though, was it?

She grabbed a rag and started wiping down all the counters, scrubbing hard at the stains, even the ones that had been there for years. Soap, water, rag, she just kept going. And going. She cleared off all the flour, put all the dishes in the sink and wiped the countertops down to the closest they could come to a shine.

She washed dishes then, scrubbing the batter off of bowls and spoons, washing blood and meat off of the knives and cleaver. Once again, she clogged the sink and had to reach in to unplug it. She needed a new one, a better on. She had almost managed to save enough for one, but she best put her priorities straight first.

She swept next, moving around Mr. Todd carefully so she didn't disturb him. All the flour, the dust, a few unfortunate roaches, all swept away and thrown away, never to see the light of day again.

The windows probably needed to be washed, but there wasn't enough room for that. She would have to move Mr. Todd and she didn't want to bother him. So she settled for two cloths, one wet and one dry, and proceeded to wash the windows with just some water and wiped it dry. She just ignored the windows behind the table.

What else was there that needed to be done? Well, her cupboards certainly needed reorganizing. Cupboard by cupboard, she rearranged all the ingredients and dishes that the wood held and made them nice and neat. Stacked plates on top of plates, tucked bowls under bowls. Separated the knives from the forks from the spoons. It would be so much more convenient this way too.

Hm… if they stayed. Someone was bound to notice the disappearance of not only Beadle Bamford, but the 'honorable' Judge Turpin. Fingers would definitely point. The health committee at least knew the beadle had been to their house last. Or was it her house? Or his? She didn't know anymore.

Everything clean… everything satisfactory, ready for tomorrow, should she live to see it.

Nellie was about to return to her gin at the table, but she must have missed a spot on the counter, because there was still a huge mark on the surface. She frowned and grabbed that rag again and rinsed it. Once satisfied with its cleanliness, she gave it a good squeeze and then started rubbing against the stain on her counter.

It was a good one, not coming off very easily at all. She scrubbed harder, her knuckles digging into the wood as she clutched the rag tightly and gritted her teeth while she dragged the rag back and forth across the surface of the counter.

The bugger would not come off! What was it, even? She couldn't tell, and she didn't much care, she just wanted it gone. Her whole house was clean but for that spot and she wouldn't rest until it was gone.

Blemishing her nice finish… why couldn't it just wipe away like the others?

Almost got it… hadn't she? She frowned and used even more strength, rubbing with all her force into the bloody stain on the bloody counter. _Why_ wasn't it coming _off_?

She gasped when she felt a hand close around her wrist and she froze all but her head, which she raised to see Mr. Todd staring down at her.

"Mr. Todd?" She asked, fear welling inside her again. Well, she did ask for warning should he decide to kill her. Perhaps she would ask to rather be left in the dark…

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice cautious.

Nellie breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, well, there's this stain on the counter-"

"Where?" He asked.

"On the counter," she explained, "here-"

But as she looked down at the counter, suddenly the spot she had seen before was gone. She stared blankly down at it in confusion. She swore it was there a few moments ago. Had she gotten it without knowing? Well, she wasn't paying much attention.

She inspected the rag, searching for the spot that she had apparently wiped off the counter.

Mr. Todd raised her wrist in the air and grabbed her hand. With a last, uneasy, stern look at her, he examined her fingers. His expression was not helping to calm her any.

"What are you doin' that for?" She asked, frowning.

"You are bleeding," he stated. So simple. Just a short little sentence that might have raised alarm in someone else, but not him. Never him. Why should blood concern him?

"What?" She drew her hand back to herself and examined her bleeding knuckles, the skin scraped back. Why hadn't she noticed? Why hadn't she _felt_ it?

He took her hand back and looked at it more, with a most curious expression. He looked at the other one also, comparing them side-by-side. Ordinarily, she would have given anything for him to hold her hands, but this wasn't the way she wanted. His eyes were glittering in the light, obviously reflecting the light from the lamps, but it was not like the reflection of the bake oven. Not nearly as frightening.

Still, his eyes were hooded and unreadable, she only knew that he was confused over something, trying to riddle something out. Since when had she become so complex?

"Well, what are you finding so fascinating about me hands?" She demanded, not sounding as strong as she had hoped she would. It was already effortless enough for him to exude power over her.

He didn't answer, just continued to inspect her. Like a doctor and a patient, like a scientist looking though a microscope, like a father would inspect his daughter's injury after she fell off her bicycle… only slightly more corrupted than all of those put together.

"I don't like when you bleed," he finally said, his eyebrows coming together in disapproval. Nellie was taken aback. Well, that was a lovely statement. So unlike him to say something neutral to her, not even a compliment. "…Unless I'm the one who causes it."

And ruined.

Nellie drew her hands back to herself consciously, and went to the sink. She had many saucy retorts forming on her quick tongue, but she held them all, for her sake. They were still on thin ice, weren't they? Well, better to be safe than to be sorry.

Instead, she kept silent as she waited for the water to cool. Still scorching hot from when she was doing the dishes. Come to think of it, he had promised to fix her sink, as the knobs were rusty and the pipes were old. Well, not that it mattered now…

"You say there was a stain?" He asked, the dull, lazy voice had come back to him as he walked back over to the table.

She rinsed the cuts carefully, wincing under the icy water as it cleaned the cuts and she tried to pick out the splinters that had got caught in her flesh. "I thought there was. I mean, I saw it…"

"Saw it…" he echoed. "Hallucinating isn't good, Mrs. Lovett," he said, his voice almost amused.

"I wasn't hallucinating," she snapped. "I simply… I just thought…" She fumbled for words and heard him chuckling softly into his glass. Nellie's anger rose. "Well, forgive me, Mr. Todd, but I almost just died, give or take, five times in one night. Much less one hour. I'm sorry if I'm a little off."

His laugher grew as he muttered back, "Only three."

"Three?" She echoed. Only three. The nerve of that audacious man… whom she loved.

"I only seriously thought about killing you three times. So you were only in danger three times," he explained. He finished his gin and she immediately went over to pour him another, though she wasn't asked, despite the anger she felt at him.

"Oh, well, that puts me at rest. Thank you, Mr. Todd," she said frostily and moved back to her counter to put away a few more final things and gathered up all the rags they had used. She threw them into a basket she used for the laundry, but doubted they would ever be washed now.

Mr. Todd was absorbed into his own thoughts again when she went back into the other room and stood in the center of the room. She frowned as she clotted the blood with a rag she kept out just for her.

There was nothing more to clean, nothing to put away, or sweep, or wipe, or wash, or organize; nothing. She looked around the room anyway, dragging her eyes over all of her possessions. Most of them were meaningless. Most she never looked twice at before. Some were Albert's things, and the rest…

She walked back into the room and sunk into the chair behind the table and took her glass of gin with her as she leaned back against the wall.

She did everything in her power not to look at the man across from her, but she really couldn't help it. Honestly.

The more she thought on it, the more she realized she didn't feel like things had changed much. Deciding if that were good or bad would come later, but it felt as if they were sitting here on any ordinary day, waiting for customers because of their business' were slow, consumed in their own thoughts.

However, she reminded herself darkly, this was not just any other day. She could have died earlier that night, and would have if she hadn't realized it in time. And Mr. Todd, he had wanted to kill her.

And who was to say he completely changed his mind? Perhaps when he got the energy again, he would do it. He must have been very drained, emotionally, and eventually physically. She could clearly foresee him standing above her with his razor while she lay vulnerable in bed.

She wouldn't be able to fight with him forever. Fighting with him took quite a lot out of her. But reasoning with him took even more effort. She wasn't sure if she'd rather take him on with a razor in his hands coming after her or with a wall safely between them.

Nellie finished the rest of her gin and held the cup loosely in her hands.

Look at yourself, she said silently. The supposed love of your life just tried to kill you and now you're sitting not three feet away from him drinking like old chums. There must be something wrong with you.

But she preferred the logical approach, the practical one. It wasn't as if she had anywhere else to go. No family, no friends, no Albert, now, not even Toby. And he had no where else to go. No family, no friends (save his razors, bur hardly thought that counted at all,) no Lucy and now Johanna was running off with Anthony, probably never to return again. She had no one. He had no one. They were a perfect match, really, if only he would allow himself to see it…

"Mr. Todd?" She said suddenly.

"What?"

Nellie stood up, her face growing more and more concerned as she looked down at him. "Have you heard from Anthony and Johanna tonight?"

His lips parted slightly, as if he, too, suddenly just remembered this situation. He stood abruptly, nearly knocking the chair back. Then he stood there, almost waiting for instruction.

"Well?" She pressed.

"No. I did off with judge and then heard you scream, so I-" he stopped short, whirling around to face the door outside, the steps up to his shop.

Nellie went up behind him. "What is it?"

"There was a lad… someone in my shop. Saw me after I killed the judge. Could they still be…" He walked towards the door and went outside. With eyes full of suspicion, or concern, he stared up the long stairway to the top where his shop sat just as gloomily as him.

"Mr. Todd… do you think… perhaps- _that_ was Johanna?" Nellie ventured, wrapping her arms around herself as a cold breeze swept through the air around them. Chilling them, to the bone. Most appropriately.

His voice was hoarse as he answered. "I-I'm not sure…"

The pain on his face was so tortured, it hurt her just to look at him. The lines of his face all twisted in horror at the possibility. Well, she would be horrified to, if her daughter had witnessed something she'd done like that.

"What do you suppose we do?" She asked quietly.

He continued to stare, not offering her any answer this time. She had to do something, and they had to get back inside. Late as it was, she didn't want to chance being seen out here by a nosy neighbor. Grabbing his arm, she led him back inside.

"Listen," she implored him, making sure their eyes were locked as she spoke, "If Anthony had come with the carriage, she would have told him what she saw and the law would have been here by now. There's a good chance she's still up there now. What do you intend we should do about her?"

He broke away, running his fingers through his hair and began pacing a circle through the room. She knew he was thinking, so she waited for a response, keeping an eye out of the window.

"I don't know… I don't know…" he was muttering. She could practically feel all the thoughts thrumming out from his head and reverberating off the walls. They shook her.

Nellie kept watching out the window, but Anthony could have been back any time. They had to act quicker.

"What if I-" she began, but he cut her off.

"No!"

"Mr. T, you didn't even listen," she reasoned, walking up behind him. She had to turn him around and hold him in place in front of her just to get him to listen. She was fully aware of the danger she was putting herself into, so she kept her hands as low to his wrists as she could get away with. Fortunately, for now, he made no moves. "If Johanna saw you, we can do one of two things. Do you hear me? We can either go explain to her now what she saw in a nice and calm rational way and hope that she understands the situation, or the only other option is…"

She hesitated and looked at him meaningfully so she could convey what she was trying to say. There was no way in hell she was saying _those_ evil words.

"I won't kill her…" he said, his voice soft and distant, and most gratefully, not angry at her suggestion. "Or Anthony. He's all she has now."

"That's nonsense, she has you," Nellie reminded him.

But he turned away from her. He didn't start pacing or fidgeting with razor, though. More the opposite. He stayed standing still as if someone had just sculpted him out of stone or clay. "No. She doesn't."

She frowned at his back. "What do you mean? You're her father."

Mr. Todd shook his head slowly. "Benjamin Barker was her father. Not Sweeney Todd. Sweeney Todd is not fit to be a father; he's a monster… A monster that isn't even fit to look at her…"

Nellie felt a pain in her heart as she stared longingly at his back. So tragic, so unfortunate. Johanna would never have parents now. Never. No hope for the poor girl. But Mr. Todd did have a point; she did have Anthony. Perhaps he could be enough for her. Make up for all the love she missed.

"Mr. Todd, I've an idea," she said in a sparkling voice. "That is, if you want to try and talk to her and let her know the truth without revealing that you're her father."

He grunted his approval. So eloquently allowing her to go on.

Nellie began. "When Anthony comes back, we'll meet them up there before they can leave. We can say you were a good friend of Benjamin Barker's, and launch into the sad tale however you like. That way she will know who her parents are… were… and that will explain why you murdered the judge."

He considered this thoughtfully.

"I mean," she went on, "She can't be too particularly upset, could she? Given the circumstances. Turpin wanted to marry her. And on top of that, he was old enough to be her grandfather." She shivered. "I'm sure there was no love-loss there. Might've just frightened her, that's all. She'll understand."

He was nodding, eyes darting around on the floor. It was amazing she'd managed to do something right this evening. Then he gripped her shoulder suddenly. "But you have to stay down here."

She drew back, but did not move. "Why? Why can't I go with you?"

He looked sharply into her eyes.

"Toby," he said simply, but with a very dark overtone. "He's just a child. He won't understand things like Johanna and Anthony might."

Her face fell, but she knew very well he was right.

He gripped her other shoulder, his face very close to hers. "Mrs. Lovett, Toby must not leave this house."

Deadly, deadly serious.

Nellie licked her lips, which had suddenly gone very dry, only to find her tongue was not wet either. Her whole mouth was like sandpaper.

"Do you understand?" He asked. Not quite threatening, but not light-hearted.

"I understand, Mr. Todd," she promised, wondering where the words were coming from. "I won't let him leave."

He lingered just for a moment, his eyes flicking over her face before he straightened up. "I am going to go talk to her now. If something goes wrong, I'll need your help, so keep an eye out the window. I'll be as quick as I can and I'll be down as soon as they're out the door."

She nodded.

He turned briskly and started nearly jogging out of the room.

"Good luck," Nellie called after him, and he paused with his hand on the door knob. He turned his head so she could just see the side of his face and he nodded in thanks briefly before throwing the door open and slamming it shut behind him.

She listened to his heavy footsteps fade away and the bell to his shop ring once, and then again. She looked back the door to the bake house, still standing ajar and welcoming in the most sick, melancholy way.

Well, she wasn't cockeyed, she couldn't watch both at once.

Nellie slowly backed to the corner where she could see the bake house doors and the window outside, clutching her glass tightly.

There was nothing to do but watch. Left alone, with her thoughts. Praying couldn't hurt. She'd never been a particularly religious woman, but she attended services every Sunday- that was, every Sunday until Mr. Todd arrived in her shop. Then things just weren't that important anymore.

Nellie closed her eyes tightly before remembering she needed to be watching the doors. Both doors. Toby's door and Mr. Todd's door.

She prayed Toby was long gone. She prayed Anthony would hurry up with that bloody carriage. She prayed Mr. Todd would be all right and Johanna would listen to him. She prayed… she prayed she would come out of this night alive, preferably not in prison.

Once the law got there, it would be all over. Blood stained sheets and shirts, body parts lying all over the bake house, not to mention the three dead bodies down there. She desperately wished she could take care of them, but did not, dare not, leave her post.

With her luck, Toby would pop out the door when she wasn't watching and Johanna would take off down the street. She stayed put.

Oh, she _prayed_ Toby wouldn't give her any trouble. She couldn't kill him herself. If he wasn't gone in the sewers, she hoped he could at least wait until Mr. Todd came back.

To her horror, she heard a movement come from the direction of the bake house. A shuffling of feet. A small sigh of relief. Just the faintest of breaths.

The door to the bake house slowly creaked open she saw the distinct shape of Toby's nose peer out, followed by his chin and mouth and finally his wide, frightened eyes. Nellie pressed herself further into the corner she was in, horridly unsure of what to do.

Toby was looking both ways from behind the door and when he thought it was safe, he emerged from the bake house and carefully put the door back to rights. He poked his small head around the corner before walking into the kitchen.

Checking to see if she was at her place behind the counter.

Her breath caught, she froze, she just didn't know what move to make, what steps to take. She could only watch as he slowly emerged from the doors and crept out of his hiding spot.

Should she try talking to him? Maybe if she tried to reason with him… but as Mr. Todd said, Toby might not understand. His mind was so simple, a child's mind. Murder was murder; it didn't matter for what cause or purpose the murder was done.

But what other choice did she have?

_"…Toby must not leave this house…"_

What as she to do? Restrain him until Mr. Todd returned?

He started walking cautiously towards the door. Fortunately, the exit was farther from his spot than what would have been more advantageous for him. But she couldn't let him leave. She couldn't.

She followed him until he was passing the island in the kitchen she made her pies on.

"Toby!"

He jumped and spun around, staggering back in terror. "Mrs. Lovett, ma'am!"

"Toby, where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!" She chided him, coming closer. He backed away, looking unsure of what to make of her.

She had to think quicker than this.

"What's the matter, Toby? What's wrong?"

"I know what's been going on down there," he said, his voice trembling. "Mr. Todd is a bad man, he's been killing the people who come into his shop."

Before she could argue, he went on.

"And you-you make them into your pies," he accused, still backing away as she came closer.

Nellie thought frantically, a blur of images and thoughts running through her mind.

"I know," she said finally. "I know, Toby. I'm sorry, dear."

He stumbled on something, whether it was himself or something on the floor, she wasn't sure. But she took the advantage to close in on him.

"Listen, Toby-"

"No! No, I won't listen! I trusted you with my life! You was like a mum to me, but now- now I can't even look at you!" Tears prickled in his eyes and he tried scooting away.

Her heart was breaking more and more as every second ticked by. She could hear the seconds in her mind and she heard the sound of her heart cracking in beat, like a metronome. This couldn't go on, he couldn't keep doing this to her. He was making it sound so horrible!

Helping Mr. Todd and killing them herself were two very, very different things. Entirely. Wouldn't anyone do anything for the person they loved? People toss the idea around so much, making it's meaning lost, but doesn't love cross those lines?

People who love people can die for those people, so why should killing be any different?

"And why can't you look at me, Toby? Because I was helpin' Mr. T in a time of need? Because he needed me and I was there for him? Keepin' him safe and out of trouble? Helping him get the revenge he swore for his wife?" She demanded of the boy, grabbing onto his collar firmly.

A whole new fear passed over him as he whimpered below her, but she wasn't noticing that anymore.

"What do you know about trust, lad? What do you know about love? How can you possibly understand my situation? And then you was planning' on running off to the law, to have them come take us away! After all we've done for you!"

He tried prying himself from her grasp.

"It don't have to be this way, Toby, it doesn't! If you just keep quiet we can leave this place and go build another life somewhere- somewhere better than this. And there won't be no more killings, there won't be no more secrets. I can be your mum again-"

Toby shoved her and she fell back hard onto the ground. He scrambled to his feet and made for the door. "You were never my mum!" He shouted in despair, sobbed while he ran away from her.

Nellie gasped for air and sat up. As she watched his retreating form, time got that slow feeling again, where everything passed like she were in a dream. Just like before, just like in the bake house when she and Mr. Todd danced and danced.

She saw the boy running like she saw the fire in Mr. Todd's eyes. And she had to act.

She turned her head and saw the glass she had still been clutching spinning to a halt beside her. Without thinking, she grabbed it and really felt it in her hand. The weight, the shape, the clear, crystal material unblemished.

Nellie threw the glass at Toby.

It hit. It hit him right in the back of the head and shattered, sending glass spilling all over the room. One caught her cheek, grazed her arm, all inconsequential. And one landed on her dress. She stared down at it, squinting down at the shard. The ruby-colored shard.

And then time sped up.

Nellie looked up at Toby right as he fell to the ground.

The sound that followed was one she was sure she'd remember for her entire lifetime.

He dropped to the floor with a loud, resounding thud, almost a crunch, almost a boulder sinking right through the hardwood flooring. The other glass shards fell like a rain shower around him, clinking to floor in soprano's notes.

Nellie felt her heart stop. It was no longer breaking. It was broken, and it had just blinked out of existence. Hollow. She felt so empty, so hurt, so… so _scared_.

"Toby?" She asked weakly.

The silence that followed was the loudest sound she had ever heard.

She rose to her knees, not fully aware of the glass that dug into them while she had her full weight on them. Peering over at him, she could see the full extent of the damage she had done.

A large, black gash was slightly to the left of the center of his skull, bleeding, dropping and running onto the floor. Spreading, wider, like a lake with black water. So dark, why was his blood so dark?

"Toby?" She tried again. It could only be a wound. A small wound. Easily emendable. She could give him a proper head wrap and he would be fine. Fine.

He was _not_ dead.

Nellie crawled over to him, heedless of her palms resting on the jagged glass pieces while she did. She couldn't feel it. She was numb, after all. Didn't have a heart.

The black blood pooled around his head. Why wouldn't he just get up?

She shook his shoulder. "Get up, Toby, you're all right. I'll fix that for you, okay?"

He didn't answer. Being so stubborn, just lying down like that. If he would just move so she could help him up, she could bandage his head and it would be all better. Why wouldn't he just _move_?

Nellie refused to believe what was happening. She couldn't have killed him. _She_ wasn't the murderer. Mr. Todd was. She didn't do the killing, it wasn't her thing, she didn't have the power, the know-how… It couldn't be…

"Toby!" She sobbed, and flipped him around.

He stared back at her lifelessly, a look of terror and pain still on his face. She drew back in fright and ran over to the corner she was hiding in before. It was the only safe place she would find for a long time. She sobbed helplessly into her hands, not believing what she had done.

She killed Toby. She killed Toby.

_She killed Toby._

The blood from her glass wounds ran down her wrists and mingled with the tears that were also falling from her eyes. She couldn't feel the pain. She wouldn't feel the pain now.

Oh, dear God, Nellie realized in horror. She was a murderer.

-


	3. We're All Mad Here

All the Difference.

We're All Mad Here.

* * *

_'But I don't want to go among mad people,' said Alice.  
'Oh, you can't help that,' said the cat.  
'We're all mad here.'_

* * *

Does time actually pass after a murder?

Once the brutal act was committed, what was there left? Suddenly, you are the only soul left. It's as if you feel the other person leave the room, as easily as if they'd walked out to do a chore or an errand or something else trivial and common. Only Toby had not gone out shopping or on an errand or to wipe down the table outside after the dinner rush. He was dead.

_Dead._

For the longest time, she sobbed. She wailed and screamed at Toby's dead body, hoping to bring him back to life that way, for all the good it would do. But it was only after a while of that she did finally give up and put the greatest distance she could manage between her and the body.

That's all she had to do, right? Look at it subjectively, just like Mr. Todd. It was just another body; in her shop, on the floor, just like all the others. Just like all the others. That was right.

Mr. Todd would be down any second to help her move it and then she would make a meat pie, just like always. It was no different. No different.

And yet, she couldn't stop _staring_. It just laid there… intrusively. The very presence of it troubled her, like it was an intruder in her home, in her kitchen, lying on the floor like that, unwelcome. She hadn't invited it; she didn't _want_ this to happen

It was _all_ the difference, she realized and turned away in shame. Oh, she wanted to be out of this place. The home, the kitchen, her body, anything; but something had to change. Everything felt so _wrong_, like this skin wasn't _hers_, the hair, the clothes, nothing, it was someone else.

But she was stuck in that place, watching the window and watching the body, like Mr. Todd said. She couldn't move for fear. She did have to keep an eye on the window. And if she got any closer to the body…

Was time moving at _all_?

Mrs. Lovett wasn't sure of that because, it felt, one minute she was leaning against the wall for support, crying and bleeding and staring on at the atrocious crime she had just committed… and then she was lying on the floor just like Toby, unmoving, as Mr. Todd burst through the door, alert and scanning the area, managing to hit Toby's body with the door as he came in.

She flinched. He looked over at her, frowned in concern, and then followed her eyes to where she was looking. He hadn't even noticed the body on the floor, Toby's body. Couldn't he hear that hideous sound when he hit the stiffening body with the door?

They both just stared. Her tears had long since dried up, but the evidence remained on her face. She knew because she felt it when the door opened and a breeze hit her face. He stared at Toby with no emotion, no compassion but nor hatred either. His death hadn't mattered at all to Mr. Todd.

Why should it have?

Mr. Todd shut the door and looked up at her questioningly. "Mrs. Lovett?"

What could she say?

She tried sitting up, but failed. She curled her body and tried to sink into the floor. Unfortunately, it didn't work.

"I-I didn't mean to, I… I had to stop him from leaving like you said, but I never meant…" She trailed off, wondering why she was trying to apologize for a murder to a man who easily murdered twenty or so people, on a good day. Redundant.

She looked around for something to do, anything to take her mind off talking about it. Her hands shook as she tried to straighten her dress, smooth the wrinkles, hide the rips and tears she'd acquired from the night… He took notice of her trembling.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his eyebrow slightly arched as he approached her and helped her to her feet, keeping his hands on her shoulders. She swayed only a little, but managed to keep her ground.

Did he really have to ask that? What _wasn't_ wrong at the moment? She would need to make a list if they were going to get into this one…

"What's-What's wrong?" She asked incredulously. "What's wrong? I-I killed him! I killed Toby, my… my… it wasn't…"

She felt that familiar tingle in her throat and tears welled in her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Crying and crying, like some useless little child. Oh, she couldn't help it, but she did wish she could stop at some point. Because the way she felt now, with the way her life had altered so drastically in the last hour or so, she felt like she would never stop crying.

He stood invariably closer to her than what was normal for him as a comforting gesture that could only be interpreted as such from such a man as Mr. Todd. But she was beyond that. Hysterics were taking over her again and she covered her face.

"We were going to kill the boy anyway, love," he said in a soft, soothing voice. She would have immensely appreciated his tone and her pet name in any- any- other circumstance, but it only made her cry harder. What did it _matter_ if they were going to kill him anyway? It wasn't _her_ who had to be doing it!

"But- you! You're the killer, not me!" She sobbed, turning away from him. She wished she wouldn't cry in front of him even more than she had. "I just help you, I look out for you, I don't kill anyone. I'm not like that, I-"

"Stop," he said firmly, his hand coming down to her shoulder and squeezing tightly.

Mrs. Lovett dropped down to her knees, not willing to accept comfort from him. Pain shot up through her, but she ignored it. Defeated, depressed, and utterly, hopelessly distraught. Things were never going to be okay again. Oh, what was she going to do? What were _they_ going to do?

"Mrs. Lovett, pull yourself together," Mr. Todd said, bending down behind her, his mouth by her ear.

Oh, that was very easy for him to say. He was a murderer! She was sure killing came almost naturally to him. It was easy to keep himself composed, once he had a nice pattern going. He could put on the faux, warm smile and take his customers coats and lather cream onto their cheeks. And then, just as politely slice their throats open. It was all quite simple for him.

But she was different. It wasn't as if she put poison into her pies. She didn't put a few drops of arsenic in the meat filling, bake it, smile as she served it to her unwitting customers, only to then to watch as their eyes bulged, their hands came around their throats, the poison took affect, and they died. What was once a nice evening out for dinner had become their end.

It was all just an accident. She didn't plan these things like she did, and she wasn't hell-bent on revenge like him.

Mrs. Lovett felt arms lifting her up and she was too weak to fight them, too weak to tell Mr. Todd that he made her this way, that she blamed him for his influence over her. Never would have happened, if not for him. None of this, none of it…

She cried into his neck, arms wrapping around him as she huddled her form against him, unaware of everything else. She disregarded her feelings before and instead took the only comfort he could give, just standing there. It never struck her that he was actually trying to comfort her, she was stealing it anyway.

Next thing she knew, she was on her bed. She looked around, bewildered as to when she got there and why. She couldn't even remember moving. What was Mr. Todd doing?

Mr. Todd stood above her for a moment, and she saw her tears shining on his throat, pooling through his shirt on one side. On the other shoulder: blood, her blood; now mixed in with the blood of all his other victims that night. Only, she was the one victim he didn't manage to kill.

She felt guilty and stopped crying. Then, he was walking around her room, looking for something, but she couldn't guess what. She couldn't bring herself to ask either.

Another woman might have considered it an invasion of privacy, but she didn't care. She was a little beyond that now. So she simply watched the patterns of flowers on her bed comforter swirl around like an optical illusion.

He obviously found what he was looking for, because he sat down on her bed and said, "Give me your hands."

Slowly, she reached them out in front of her. They still trembled, she could feel them, but she willed herself not to look at them. She wasn't really sure where she was looking. Her vision, all darkened…

She gasped in pain and was definitely sure she saw her hands in front of her vision. Her bleeding, glass-imbedded hands. It was horrifying to look at, and she felt her stomach turn in nausea.

A first aid kit.

Mr. Todd was pulling the pieces from her hand deftly, using only his fingers. She watched the pile grow on her comforter, pieces of glass covered in red blood. These truly looked like the rubies he always spoke of. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

"What is this from?" He asked, while running a cotton swab over her palms.

She winced, but replied, "The glass of gin. I was still holding it in my hand. He pushed me down and said… he said… well, I threw it at him as he was runnin' away 'bout to escape…"

The last words Toby shouted would not come out. Just thinking about them made he heart wrench. Evidently, she had it back. Blinked back into existence, maybe when Mr. Todd was carrying her. Maybe it just happened, or it was never really gone in the first place. It certainly felt like it had been gone.

He nodded in sympathy and wrapped bandages around her hands. "It's done now. It's over."

His words gave her an odd sense of easiness. Hidden in his words, she could decipher he meant that everything would be okay. He would help her, maybe even take care of her return. He was fixing her up, as she'd done to him so many times before.

Strange how things turned around that way.

"Lift up your dress," he said, and she stifled a gasp of embarrassment. She looked down at her skirt in astonishment and back up to him.

He sighed heavily, as if it was such a great effort to explain, started folding back her dress, and said, "I can see the blood on the front of your dress, it bled right through. Don't know why you were crawling around with glass all over the floor…"

She blushed and peered over the folds to take a look for herself. There weren't as many pieces of glass lodged in her flesh there, (maybe just two or three.) She figured most of the shards had simply torn her dress while she dragged herself along the floor, but her knees and shins were still awfully bloody.

He cleaned the cuts there as well, but didn't bother putting any bandages over her. Perhaps they didn't have any left. When he was done, he folder her dress back down and made her lay down.

"I'm sorry, Mr. T…" she murmured, the blush back on her cheeks as she apologized to him. She wasn't exactly sure which thing she was apologizing for, but everything over the last two hours came back to her head, so she included all of it in her apology.

He remained silent, his face a mask of impassivity. She supposed it was a, 'your welcome.'

"Get some sleep, Mrs. Lovett. You need sleep. I'll keep watch and wake you in the morning. The authorities shouldn't notice anything is amiss until later in the morning, once the courthouse opens, so we'll leave here right at dawn," he had it all planned out, just like that. So cool, so collected. "That gives a few hours of rest. Use it well."

Mrs. Lovett figured that was as close to a 'goodnight' that she would ever get from him. No less then she deserved, she reminded herself. It would be awfully rude and ungrateful to forget how kind he'd been to her when she didn't deserve it at all. Just a bit ago, he was trying to throw her into a fire and now he was tending to her wounds and putting her to bed.

She marveled at that once more, how a situation can be turned around by one little mishap. In this case, an accidental murder. Wasn't that the reason? Was he feeling pity for her, or was he simply… well, doing what he had to do?

Because he didn't have to do anything. He could have left her, told her to clean herself up and go to bed. Instead, he saw how weak she was and did it for her. He didn't have to, but he did. Something like this… it was so unlike him.

What would she do without him? She couldn't _imagine_ life without Mr. Todd. Her life before he came back into it was like a distant dream, or a past life. Albert and Lucy were now two souls, lost in history. It was just Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd now.

As her head fell to the pillow, she realized fully how unbelievingly tired she was and couldn't argue with his instructions, not that she'd ever dream of that. Their gaze held until her eyes closed and she lost herself to unconsciousness.

Mr. Todd's mind had never been more confused, more angry, more sad, or numb. His body was buzzing slightly with the night's events, each memory either more stunning or more maddening (or both,) from the memory prior as he sunk into the chair once more and grabbed the bottle of gin again.

He drank straight out of it.

Never had he wanted to kill Mrs. Lovett as much as he wanted to that night. Similarly, he had never wanted to hold her as much as he wanted to that night either. The two had never been parallel. However, tonight he truly believed that he and Mrs. Lovett could have very well defied gravity and gotten away with it.

Nothing was impossible.

Everything was no longer black and white, just the way he liked it. There was not the comforting positive or negative aspects in his life. Upside-down. Backwards. Grey. Maybe. Lucy… Evil had become good, good had become evil, but he wasn't even sure he knew the difference anymore.

It literally hurt his brain, a tiny, insistent throb on the left side, to think of it all. He took a swig of gin and felt it burn down his throat.

He was so angry at Mrs. Lovett. Why had she moved from the fire? Why couldn't she just have died when he wanted her to? And then she managed to convince him- tire him out, rather- of killing her. But it got worse than that, even. Then she proceeded to make him look so foolish, making him chase her around the bake house like that. Even managed to take his razor from him. Injuring herself in the process, but the fact remained.

He looked back in the direction of her bedroom. She had lied to him. She had lied and he would never, never forgive her for that. And yet… what she had said as he met her puffy, wet, brown eyes down in the bake house while he had her pressed against the wall, his hands on her throat, what she claimed there echoed in his mind hollowly. "…_Do you believe I would let you kill your own wife?"_

She was a liar about Lucy, there was no doubt about that. She admitted to it. Because she loved him. He pushed that thought away before it rose and thought back to her words. She claimed she would have never let him kill Lucy if she had been there. And even more foolishly than before, he believed her… even though she was a liar.

Mrs. Lovett may have been his partner in crime, his cover-up, a little amoral, and more than a little eccentric at the best of times, but she had a heart. Even if it was only for him. He couldn't help feeling if he had been about to do it and she was there with him, she would have grabbed onto his arm and stopped him before he could. He could picture it all in his mind.

Of course afterward, she might have made something up in order for him to leave her alone, but he was sure he would have recognized her, given a little time to see her face. Especially if Lucy had really recognized him. Either way, he believed Mrs. Lovett and after that, he couldn't kill her.

The words she spoke then were true, he could see it in her eyes. And she gave herself over to him, willingly, to let her kill him. If she had been lying, she would have kept fighting. He was sure of that. She hadn't had anything to lose once she gave him back his razor.

His Lucy… gone. The image of her face kept creeping back into his memory though he tried to push it out. The sickly, horrified look of the beggar woman. All those years… living on the streets, fending for herself, just like he had been. Although circumstances were different, it comforted him to know that they had both been feeling the same things, even though they were apart.

And he had killed her. He should have felt more anger towards Mrs. Lovett when he recalled this, but he didn't. Strangely enough, he felt angry with himself. After all, he'd been dreaming of Lucy's face for fifteen years. Or more accurately, twenty years since the day they first met. And the face of the beggar woman was still Lucy's face, no matter how dirty and marred it was. He felt angry with himself for not recognizing her.

As Mr. Todd sat at the table, drinking his gin, he couldn't help but wonder how much of Lucy's sanity had remained in tact. After all, Mrs. Lovett explained she was no longer herself. And after what she went through, how could one possibly remain sane? He knew the truth of that.

But even with that knowledge, Lucy recognized him. She _recognized_ him. All other things aside, whether she would have connected their faces, that had to prove something. Maybe she wasn't as mad as Mrs. Lovett said. Maybe she was.

He'd seen her around town, and at the time, thought that she was completely off of her rocker insane. The way she moved, spoke, sung down the street, just… just like any other beggar woman. Her tattered clothes, the frayed hat covering her wispy, brown-looking hair. Oh, if only her hair hadn't been so dirty… he would have seen the yellow and recognized her right there. But with the way she did look, how could he have known? She was nothing like the graceful, eloquent, and delicate Lucy he left behind.

If what Mrs. Lovett said was true, and she was a beggar, nearly a their, a… prostitute… he couldn't believe it was the same woman. His Lucy would never do that, never. He was absolutely sure of that. So… what if it hadn't been his Lucy? If Mrs. Lovett was right and she was gone, truly gone… he didn't want to believe it, but as he reflected what Mrs. Lovett said, he was finding it harder and harder not to believe her.

And the one thing that disturbed him the most and made him actually believe Mrs. Lovett rather than his instincts was that Lucy had willingly left Johanna all alone, in the hands of Turpin… how could she have done that? She knew what the judge was like. She should have known it would have only been a matter of time before he tried to take Johanna as well.

Truly, she must have been mad. Lucy would never have abandoned her child.

And Johanna, despite all she'd been through, sympathized with him. He went with Mrs. Lovett's idea and told her he was a friend of Benjamin Barker's and that he, Benjamin, was her father. It hadn't taken very much convincing and he was relieved for that. Strangely enough, he _wanted_ to distance himself from her. There were no hopes of salvaging a relationship with her. He wouldn't even suggest staying in touch with him. Even after he explained why he killed the judge, she still had that fear in her eyes that reflected his face when he looked into them.

No matter which route he had chosen, she would always see him as Sweeney Todd, blood dripping down his face and clothes, a man who nearly killed her, if it had not been for Mrs. Lovett.

He let Johanna go. She would live with Anthony in peace for the rest of her days, free from London, free from all of the memories that were haunting over her, Free from him. Free from her mother. And Johanna would never to know the truth about her parents, where she came from, all the horrors from which she was birthed.

He supposed he was free too, in a way. The judge was dead. Lucy really was dead, and Johanna was gone. What more was there to live for? Well, there was Mrs. Lovett…

Mrs. Lovett… when he thought her name then, he felt an itch in his hand, something unknowable to him, that he would probably never know. All he did know was he felt something when he thought of her, only her, in such private moments. Just a few hours ago, he was convinced she was the villain. A liar, selfish, unforgiving, unpitying, foul, loathsome, undignified, and so many more things. All negative. A bloody wonder. But the more he reflected, it seemed, the clearer his head became.

He couldn't fully understand why she would not have told him about Lucy. He knew what she said, she did what she thought was best, but also because she loved him. Somewhat contradictory, if you asked him. But why couldn't both be true?

His wife Lucy was sane and insane, both at the same time. She was his wife and yet she was not. Mr. Todd was beginning to understand there were more sides to people than he realized before. His naivety might not have been gone after all those years, even in prison, when he knew what a fool he'd been. Could he really have been more foolish still in thinking that he was… that he might be…

But all this might've been the gin. His thoughts were hardly coherent, even to himself. Perhaps he would forget all of this when the gin wore off.

Still, he wanted to see something for himself.

Mr. Todd stood abruptly and his brain screamed in protest, sending him staggering into the table. He propped his hands on the surface and leaned over until the spinning stopped.

Images of Lucy, the beggar, Johanna, and Mrs. Lovett coming in and out of focus on the surface of the table.

When his mind was clear enough to walk in an only slightly crooked line, he walked towards Mrs. Lovett's bedroom.

She was more or less exactly where he left her, lying on her side with her bandaged hands curled close to her. He'd set her on her blankets so she still didn't have any coverings beside her pale gold, black-trimmed dress. He didn't think she'd ever wear it again, so torn and bloody everywhere. She probably wouldn't like that too much. The dress was new.

He stared at her sleeping form while supporting himself on the door frame.

And the whole time, he was trying to figure out exactly why he was doing it. It had seemed a good idea a few moments ago, while the gin bottle was attached to his lips. But now he just stood there, unsure, watching her sleep and snore softly.

She looked so different in sleep. Untroubled, at peace, no weight from the world on her shoulders…

He could kill her now. In her sleep, where she would never know. Nothing but bliss would follow, bliss and blood. It would be _so_ easy… But he didn't even want to anymore. It was so frustrating.

One minute he'd been consumed in hatred and passion and utter loathing for her, and the next they had their arms around each other as they went up stairs. Why did things flip so quickly? Why did it all just go away?

Mr. Todd frowned. It couldn't just all go away. There was no wiping slates in this household. She couldn't take back her lie, and he couldn't take back trying to throw her into the oven (or trying to slit her throat. Twice.) There was no taking back anything, no forgetting.

But to forgive…

He tore himself away before he really gave himself a headache.

He was really much too tired, drained, and drunk to be reflecting anymore about him and Mrs. Lovett. They would figure something out in the morning. Until then…

After one final glance at her, he stumbled back into the kitchen. Toby's body was still lying in it's spot and he decided to take it down to the bake house so it wouldn't be a hassle in the morning. He picked it up by the collar and walked over to the bake house door. He considered throwing it down the stairs so he didn't have to bother coming back up them, but he thought of Mrs. Lovett and decided against that.

He dragged him and the body down the stairs and opened the heavy door. His eyes immediately went to Lucy, but also flicked over to the judge. That was a body he wanted to watch burn.

Mr. Todd dropped Toby and walked over to the judge. He rolled up his sleeves, wondering why he was even bothering, and then pulled the body by the wrists to the oven. There were still some meat pies in there.

Ignoring the pies, he lifted the judge's body with only slight difficulty and lifted him into the oven. He watched with delight as the judge's vile, perverted body finally burned in a sea of it's own sin. He only hoped the judge was also burning in hell now. And that the pain doubled.

The beadle was heavier, but he tossed him in well enough. He didn't take as much pleasure form watching the beadle burn as he did the judge, but it didn't matter too much.

He turned with a heavy sigh back to Lucy and Toby's bodies. He walked over and knelt down, stroking her hair back fondly. Why should accidents be just as deadly as things one does on purpose?

Mr. Todd jumped. As he looked down at Lucy he realized it was an accident. AS he looked over at Toby, he realized that too was an accident, the boy's fate aside.

He and Mrs. Lovett both killed the most important (or relatively favored) person in the world to them on accident, leaving them all alone. His wife, her adopted son.

It was an odd realization to come to. Particularly at the given moment. It actually made him quite… sad.

He dropped Toby's body into the fire, and out of courtesy, did not watch it burn. He didn't think Mrs. Lovett needed to see the body of her dead adopted son again. She'd had far too much to deal with tonight already. Then he walked back over to his wife and cradled Lucy in his arms, holding her head up to hide the horrible cut he had made. As if he could escape it now.

Her face, even filthy and misshapen, was still soft and fragile-looking. Asking him to caress her cheek, wanting comfort even in death. And despite all the sorrow he felt, he did not cry. Some part of him wanted to, but he couldn't.

Once her body was burned, he turned away from the oven and climbed the stairs up the bake house, closing every door tightly behind him.

Mr. Todd leaned against the wall for support, wondering if it was more the gin or what he had just done that was making it difficult to stand.


	4. The Great Escape

All the Difference.

Hang 'Em High.

* * *

_Ride into the sunset, would I lie to you?  
But don't stop if I fall,  
And don't look back.  
Oh baby don't stop,  
Bury me and fade to black._

* * *

At first, he thought it was the twitch in his hand that woke him up. His right forefinger, itching to curl and close around the silver razor just inches away, tucked safely in its home. It happened quite a lot, so he didn't suspect it was anything unusual.

Sweeney couldn't remember falling asleep. Actually, he specifically forbade himself to do so, in fact. But in the end, he had failed, welcoming sleep all too graciously. He didn't really fret. By nature, he woke at dawn, as he had in prison and aside from that, he was an insufferably light sleeper.

Should they have any night-time visitors, he would have known.

He had only the time to look around, and take in his surroundings, before he realized what really had awoken him. The chair he was in was not familiar like the chair he normally slept in. Not the cushioned barber's chair, but wooden and hard. It was still a chair, but he had his head laid down on the table, and there was no table in his barber shop.

He remembered why he was where he was, and examined the hand that had twitched. He curled his fingers around the blade as it asked and he instantly felt a calm, a small comfort as a blanket or a stuffed toy, wash over him.

Then he heard the pounding. The whistles. The real source of sound that rose him from his quiet slumber. At least, that was what he assumed, otherwise he was very lucky the twitch woke him up.

He was on his feet in an instant, as if he had never been sleeping. He liked to consider that a talent he had; that we was never really groggy. Restless, undoubtedly and most of the time, too, but never sluggish and longing for sleep.

Brain thinking fast, he debated over what to do. He could always try reasoning with whoever was outside. Perhaps it just a few policemen, and they were just making an inquiry. No trouble wanted, standard procedure. On the other hand… there could be many. Too many to hold back, kill, or persuade.

Sweeney moved like a snake, slithering along the wall and pressing himself flat against it where he was sure to be out of their sight. With the tip of his razor, he drew the curtain back just enough to see who was at the door, and paled, more than usual, when he saw at least a dozen officers huddling around the front door. With weapons.

Sweeney drew back from the window and looked around the room. They couldn't see in, so they had no idea if anyone was actually home. But if no one answered, they would no doubt use force to search the house. It was indubitable that they had a warrant.

His eyes landed on the heavy shelf that displayed Mrs. Lovett's finer things; dishes and other trinkets he had never given a second look. He put away his razor and started hauling the shelf in front of the door to block their entrance, or at least make it more difficult to bust the door down. He looked around at all the windows, but there was nothing he could use to block them as well, as they were surrounded by tables or other things.

There would have been no way out now, not for anything. They would have to take the sewers.

It was lucky he brought his box of razors and things he needed downstairs before he went to sleep. He wanted to see his shop one last time, and wouldn't dream of leaving certain things behind. The box of razors, the picture, and his coats.

There was no more time for thinking, so he did the first and final thing he thought of.

He sprinted into Mrs. Lovett's room.

Waking up was a very difficult thing for Nellie Lovett the following morning. Mostly because she didn't want to, partly because she didn't feel like she could. Her whole body ached in pain, particularly her palms. Why were they so stiff? She couldn't move her fingers.

Then she realized she couldn't only not move her fingers, but her arms, as well, her legs, her back; what was wrong with her? She thought she might be paralyzed, but that was impossible.

She wondered if it was the dream she had that night that left her feeling rotten and vile. Then she remembered the night before.

Images rushed forward to the back of her eyelids like an oncoming train. One that didn't stop coming once it hit her brain. She was forced to relive an entire evening in seconds as she climbed out of unconsciousness, struggling and breathing hard to get away from the train, but she was paralyzed, she couldn't move.

There were images of Lucy, lying dead on the ground, and Mr. Todd holding her. The dance they had, that wonderful, killing dance that nearly did almost kill her. His face; she saw Mr. Todd's bloody, haunting face as he tried to kill her, and the sad, miserable one that realized he couldn't. The spot that wouldn't come off, waiting, pacing, for him to return. Despite everything, she still waited for him to return to her.

She tried very, very desperately not to think about it, to escape that train now running circles around her. It would only make matters worse, she knew. Guilt never helped a situation, did it?

But no matter how hard or desperately she tried, she kept getting mental visions, flashes of the atrocious murder, but not any of Mr. Todd's. The one she committed. The one where she killed Toby.

His face, nothing like Mr. Todd's, but innocent and baby-like. The terror, the desperation. And the sounds. The glass, the thud, the crying.

"You were never my mum!"

Nellie squeezed her eyes tightly, hoping to force the resounding outburst from her head. He hadn't meant it. At least, before he hadn't meant it. He spoke the truth when he called her 'mum,' before she led him to the bake house. He meant it then, and that was all that mattered.

Right?

"Wake up!"

She frowned. It wasn't Toby's voice waking her up, the one who normally did. And it wasn't anything she was remembering. This was real. Where was the train? Something was happening. Something…

Her bones screamed in protest when she turned to her side to find the source. Her hands throbbed when she put her weight on them to lift herself up. Reminders that she killed her son.

She felt sick even still; the feeling had not passed from the night before as she had hoped. If only it had been so easy to just sleep away her problems.

She was dizzy and her vision was blurred as she struggled to focus on the face before her and the identity of it; the only face it could possibly be in the world. Her world.

"We have to go- Now!" Mr. Todd was urging, taking hold of her arm. It was enough to wake her up, as she her arms still hurt so terribly.

Nellie struggled to her sit up and slide to the edge of the bed. "What is it? What's happened?"

She was surprised to see a small bulging bag- a packed bag- slung over his shoulder and all his coats in place around him. He had hers in his hand as well. He draped it over her shoulders as he pulled her upward off the bed and started dashing out of her room, nearly knocking her coat off in the process.

"The authorities are here already. I've barricaded them out but it won't hold. We'll have to take to the sewers," he explained, letting go of her sore arms to open the door to the bake house. She took the opportunity to put on her coat properly before he took off like that again.

Panic washed over her as she looked back around the corner and saw the various policemen running around their house through the curtains and the large shelf that was in front of the entrance to her shop. With her hearing working properly again, she could hear them shouting, urging them to come out and there wouldn't be any harm done.

Where was Toby's body?

He shut the door behind them, but it only locked from the outside, so the cops would have no trouble getting into the bake house behind them.

She swallowed a lump of fear in her throat and Mr. Todd grabbed her arm again. Honestly, did he think her incapable of following?

Still, she allowed him to drag her along, bruising her arm no doubt, but what was a few more bruises now? She had seen all of the ones on her already. They stepped quickly but carefully down the stairs. She dreaded having to go back into that place after the previous night.

They would all be down there… the smell would be awful.

But once he opened that door and shut it behind him, she was able to get a look around and saw all the bodies were gone; the beadle's, the judge's, and Lucy's. She looked around, making sure it was true. Had he disposed of them himself? She didn't believe it.

However the smell was enough to make her stomach churn. He had burned them all.

He dragged her over to the opening of the sewer and lifted the grate. He threw the bag down first and then slid down himself. Chills erupted on her skin as déjà vu set in. Going into the sewers to find Toby… only Toby was already dead.

It made her hesitate, as if she could turn back time and beg him not to kill Toby instead of leading Mr. Todd down there herself.

"Come on," he ordered, firm but not angry.

She gathered her dress around her and slid down as swiftly, yet gracefully, as she could. He caught her around the waist and set her down almost simultaneously as he picked up the bag grabbed her arm again.

"What about the grate?" She asked breathlessly as they ran down the sewer sidewalk, dodging the over hangings and rats.

"They'll know we've gone down here anyway. Long as we stay ahead of them, we'll be fine," Mr. Todd assured her, checking each corner quickly before proceeding swiftly through the sewers.

Her adrenaline must have been the only thing keeping her going. She had just woken up barely a minute ago. And her heart was racing. Oh, but she ached.

She lost track of all the time they spent running in the sewers, or even where they had gone. How did he know the sewers so well? Maybe he didn't. She didn't. But they never seemed to pass the same rat twice.

"Mr. Todd?" She asked meekly as he pulled her along.

"What?" He didn't stop or turn around to face her.

She swallowed yet another lump in her throat and asked, "What happened to all the bodies?"

His grip on her wrist tightened for a brief moment, but long enough to send a string of painful electricity to her elbow and up past her shoulder. But he loosened his grip just ask quickly and responded, "Got rid of 'em."

She could tell by the short answer that was all she was getting from him. But she didn't really want to know how he'd done it. She could presume enough anyway…

Not long after minutes of walking, her breath was coming in pants and there was a stitch in her left side. She clutched it as they ran, throwing off her balance. Her legs quivered, but she managed to stand and follow after him, if only because of his unyielding grip on her fingers.

She could hear the whistles, that was the worst part. The whistles of the officers, they're harsh commands for them to halt. Halt. Suppose they halted. They'd be thrown in jail. There'd be a trial of course, but Judge Turpin wouldn't be the judge. If he would have been, there would be no doubt it was straight to the gallows. But if there was another judge… another more… lenient judge, maybe they could get off with jail.

If not… Hanged.

She wondered if they might be hung at the same time. She looked sideways briefly at Mr. Todd while they ran.

Even though the thought did not strike immediate fear into her gut, it still made her worry. Hung, in front of all the townspeople. All the shopkeepers, the smiths, the bakers, the tailors, bloody Mrs. Mooney. All of them.

She could see herself standing up there on the stool. All the people spitting at her and cursing profanities. The itch of the rope around her neck bothering her the last few minutes of her life.

But Mr. Todd. She couldn't even picture him on the gallows. Oh, she could, but he didn't deserve a thing like that. An awful end. Awful. Standing there on his stool, next to her, her right, she imagined. Staring at the ground, thinking of Lucy.

After all the wrongs that happened to him, all he'd been through… to be hung…

She bit her lip as tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. Now was not the time to be getting sentimental.

But the thought of hanging, jail, Mr. Todd, murder, blood, meat…

Rats ran along side of them as they ran, as if they were leading the way out. Silly thing to think. Mr. Todd wouldn't be following rats. He was smarter than that. She wondered if they were following the rats or if the rats were following them.

Why was she thinking about the rats?

The whistles were getting louder, she could hear the distant, heavy pounding of boots against the sewer ground. It seemed as if they were right behind her.

Don't look, she told herself. Just don't look.

She knew she shouldn't turn to look. She didn't really want to know if they were right behind her. Why would she want to? To know her doom was creeping up on her? Of course she didn't want to know.

But…

Nellie turned to look. They weren't in sight. Not yet. But she saw shadows. Which was only worse. Her heart sped up and her legs shook harder. She turned her head to pay attention to where she was going, but it was a second too late.

Her shoe hit an out of place stone and she fell hard onto her already sore knees with a cry.

Mr. Todd growled, "We don't have time for this!"

He wasn't really angry at her, he was just anxious to be gone. His response didn't cut her too deep.

"I'm-I'm sorry, Mr. T," she gasped, trying to rise to her feet. But the weight of her own body was sucking her in, she felt heavy and sore, and she just wanted to lie down.

He pulled her up to legs, but she kept wobbling. She wanted desperately to stand and to stop hindering their escape, but her body simply wouldn't let her. Weak, weak, weak.

"Come on, stand straight," he was ordering her, urging with his fingers imbedded in her shoulders. But as soon as he left go, she fell again.

She was so weak…

Mrs. Lovett tried again, in vain.

"I'm sorry, I just can't- can't stand…" She apologized, frustrated tears welling in her eyes.

Mr. Todd growled again, began pacing. His eyes were flames, anger burning his pupils. Because of her.

Why was he always so angry with her?

She jumped and gasped and he froze as they heard a clatter and the unmistakable sound of heavy boots splashing in the sewers. The authorities had caught up.

"Halt! We have you cornered!"

"You are both under arrest!"

"Halt! Halt!"

He grabbed her before she could register that she was in the air but after only a few paces of running he ducked under a pillar and behind a corner that lead to a dead end.

"I can't carry you with that dress," he said, letting her slide down the wall.

Blush rose on her cheeks.

"You'll have to lose it."

The color on her cheeks surpassed a blush by far.

"Lose my… but Mr. Todd!"

But he already had his hands at her waist.

"Wait, wait, there are some layers underneath," she said hastily, not wanting her favorite dress to be ruined… more ruined. "Can't we take those?"

He sighed in agitation but was already lifting her skirt, separating the layers out to the top most one, careful to look away and not look under the fabric, and reaching to grab the under layers. He tore mercilessly at her favorite dress and managed to pull almost all the under layers while not ruining the outer layer.

For the final stubborn one, he pulled out his razor and started cutting it off from the lace under her bodice. She twisted and turned to grant him easier access and finally the last one was free.

Nellie had to concede it was much lighter to move in. Strange though.

Mr. Todd scooped her knees in his hands and carried her out running quickly. There were flashes of light and she gasped looking back to see the officers and policemen running, sprinting, at them with full speed. The light was from the torches they carried, casting shadows of the clubs they also kept close with them.

He chest tightened in fear.

"We have to get out of here, Mr. T," she whispered.

"I know that," he growled in irritation, but not at her this time. He was simply frustrated because he couldn't find an exit, she guessed.

He sprinted faster searching wildly for an escape. There had to be one, there just had to be. Sewers were not built that way. The officers weren't right, they weren't cornered. They just weren't.

She was getting very dizzy. Turning and bouncing like that in his arms, it was too much movement. Head swimming, ears pounding, they were so close… too, too close. Oh God, what if they were caught?

"There!"

She gasped as Mr. Todd hissed, skidding to a halt and turning to sprint down a long, narrow corridor. And at the end, light shone down in strips- a grate. Another one. His legs carried him and her down to the end where the shadows were dark and obscure.

He pressed his back flat against the wall and let her legs fall to the ground painfully. Before she cried out, however, his hand was over her mouth, muffling the sound. She could just barely see the whites of his eyes as he warned her to keep quiet.

Louder, louder, not her voice but the voices of the officers. They were coming closer, why weren't they escaping? She didn't ask out loud. If only Mr. Todd could read her mind…

When she opened her mouth slightly from under his hand, his grip on her tightened. She winced just a tiny bit.

Then she heard them.

Thudthudthudthudthud. Splashsplash. Clank. Clap. Click-click.

Oh God, they had revolvers too.

He pressed her closer to him, flattening her against himself. Oh if circumstances were different, her heart would be racing for a whole different reason entirely. As it was…

She turned her head just enough to see the officers running past them, not even looking, not even noticing the light or their bodies.

Clever Mr. Todd…

When the last one ran by, they waited, listening to the sound of their dying footsteps until there was nothing but eerie, dirty silence left.

Even after it was silent, he didn't move. He looked as if he was listening with his body, like an insect or a snake, or some highly evolved life-form. It was amazing to watch.

Finally, he unstuck his hand from her mouth and signaled her to keep quiet.

He reached up and started moving the grate as quickly, but noiselessly, as he could. It took much longer than he would have liked, and it showed.

Nellie waited, still hidden in the shadows while worked. Finally, the grate was slid off and he ushered her to come forward. She staggered over and caught his arm.

"Once you are up, look around and tell me what you see," he ordered in a low voice and she nodded in response.

He closed his hands around her waist and lifted her up. She grasped the edge of the grate and grasped the outside to pull herself up. Her arms quivered but she managed to get her elbows over the top, and from there she used the last of her strength to lift herself out of the sewer.

Immediately, she looked around and was relieved to see an empty alley way. She rolled onto her stomach and whispered, "It's clear- not a soul in sight."

Mr. Todd reached up and pulled himself up, struggling to get his arms out at the same time, but it would not work; his shoulders were too broad. He growled and put the right one up first, gripping the cobble stone with his fingers as he reached to get the other up.

As he was halfway there, she heard the worst sound she'd ever heard in her life, the previous night included.

"There he is!"

"He's getting away!"

"STOP HIM!"

BANG.


	5. The World Has Stopped

All the Difference.

The World Has Stopped.

* * *

_You'll give in.  
There's nothing you can do.  
Maybe in the morning it won't be quite as bad as it seems._

* * *

A bang. A shot. It wasn't possible- it only meant one thing, and yet, Nellie's brain was racing with excuses. To deny that it was true. No one fired a gun. No. They didn't have guns, what she had seen had been a mere hallucination, a waking nightmare, she hadn't seen it. She hadn't.

It was so easy to convince herself, actually. Revolvers hadn't even been around all that long. Perhaps she really had imagined it.

But then…

It _felt_ as if she had been shot. Her whole body went numb, and when she tried to move, she couldn't. And she tried everything, turning her head, twisting her legs- immobile. She didn't know where, but she was shot. She was sure of it. The sound alone had pierced through her ears and went right into her brain. Or was it the bullet?

Were they to die here? So close to freedom? So close to it she could taste… blood…

It simply wasn't fair.

Their eyes met and they held a desperate stare.

For one passing second, the world stopped turning. Nellie's world, anyway. It simply stopped, froze in place, in time, in existence. They were suspended in the air, connected by their eyes and fingers, holding onto each other, not through a sewer, but just floating there, staring longingly into the other's eyes. Oh, even after everything, she longed to kiss him now…

But when she looked closer, when she looked long enough, she saw that his brow was furrowing and his mouth was falling open as he exhaled slowly. He went just a little limp in her hold.

Nellie slowly turned her head and looked around her and saw no policemen nearby who could have shot her. Not a soul, just as she had told him. Just an empty alleyway. She realized in horror…

"Mr. Todd," she breathed.

"I…" he trailed off there, his frown deepening.

He was the one who had been shot.

The world started spinning again, only at a much faster pace. He began slipping from her fingers.

"No! No, Mr. T!" She cried, grabbing his arms to pull him up. "Mr. T, come on, I can't do this myself!"

He grunted and tried helping, but it seemed effortless. He was too heavy for her. She couldn't pull him up, she could hardly move herself, her body was still numb with fear. He couldn't move either, and couldn't help. She couldn't do it- they couldn't-

"Go," he rasped.

Surprise fluttered all around her like butterflies, only their silky wings were scratching and cutting her skin rather than caressing it like they normally did when Mr. Todd spoke to her. Surprise, and terror. Leave him there; to die? Never. She would sooner take a bullet for him than to let him take one or several- for her.

She would never forgive herself.

"No!" She cried fiercely, tears spilling out her eyes. She renewed her grip on him and pulled herself up to her knees. He was still just as heavy but she could pull quicker.

Her body wasn't numb anymore, it was thrumming; her nerves bouncing off of each other with adrenaline. She didn't stop think how it was all possible. She just pulled with every ounce of strength in her body.

It was a shame she decided to be a baker rather than a candle maker, or even a blacksmith. There were plenty of women blacksmith nowadays.

"Sir! This way! I've got him!"

She heard a man yell this. He had to have been the man who shot Mr. Todd. And he was alone. No one was by him yet. They had a chance. That bastard…

"Fire at him- don't let him get away!" Off in the distance, but still audible.

"That was my last shot, sir!"

"Well, get him!"

Her heart raced.

"Come on, Mr. T, we can do this!" She whispered fiercely. "He's alone, and he doesn't got anymore bullets! We can take him!"

He grunted, struggling, yet slipping. His arm fell back down to his side, into the sewer.

"No, no, I've got you- we have to get you out," Nellie was urging him, trying to reach for him again.

"Come on, you," the man was saying, and she could see him now, right beneath Mr. Todd. He had a mean face, angry, fat, reminded her of Albert a little. She couldn't see if he had hair or not, though.

Mr. Todd was closing his eyes and then his arm was pulled from her grip- or… no; he pulled his arm from her grip! What was he thinking?

"Mr. Todd!" She cried, reaching down into the sewers for him with both arms now, cocked at a near one hundred-eighty degree angle, her upper body folding into the sewer.

There was a loud splash and she knew he had fallen. When she ventured in further, laying back on her stomach to get a better look, she saw him lying on the ground in a heap.

He wasn't- couldn't be-

"That's right, you slime…" the officer chuckled, and she could hear his footsteps getting closer.

She prayed to whatever god or goddess or gods or beings residing the sky or beyond that might have their favor to save him- them- to let him get up, to let them get away. She prayed so hard to give Mr. Todd strength. Nellie's eyes shut tightly.

_Don't let him die…_

But she couldn't not watch. She had to make sure he was okay. Nellie forced herself to open her eyes and peer back into the sewer.

At the sight of him, she stifled a gasp, and tried to hold down a flood of tears that were wanting to burst from her eyes. Crumpled into a ball in the sewer water at the bottom of the sewer was where he laid.

Unmoving.

She strained her eyes to see if he was breathing, but tears were blurring her vision. All she could see was his dark form, curled and almost blending into the ground. The only thing Nellie could clearly see was the blood-speckled streak of white hair flattened against his skull.

She had to do something. He looked dead, but what if he wasn't? And if he was, well, there was no point in her running away. The authorities could have her.

But then- his arm twitched and he slowly moved, just his arms at first, until he was stretching out his body as he rose to his knees and struggled to stand. He squared his shoulders, and planted his legs.

It simply didn't seem real. He looked as if he was awaking from a nap, not from the dead. He had been shot, hadn't he? Was he faking it? Well, was he just going to stand there?

Mr. Todd slowly looked up and saw she was peering over. His eyes warned her.

He pushed her- Mr. Todd pushed her- out of the sewer, away. She peered over the edge anyway. If he was going to die, so was she. She clutched the edge of the sewer and looked down, ignoring the strands of hair that were falling around her face.

Panic rose in her chest. Mr. Todd's head lowered. She stopped breathing. The man came into view. Drew his club. Raised. The man drew nearer. Slowly. Very slowly. Smirking. Mr. Todd. Held his chest. Staggered back. Out of view. Out of sight. "Mr. Todd!" Metal. Sweet, sweet metal.

There was a whooshing sound in the air, a sound she was only too familiar with. The sound of his razor awakening, opening out of his pocket, extending and stretching it's silver body. He had drew his razor, he had pulled it from it's slumber. Oh, did he have the strength?

The officer was grinning. "Got you now, Todd. Come along quietly."

He took one more step. Just one more.

Because at that moment, Nellie watched as the razor glided through the air, moonlight glinting off of it provocatively, as it swept, left to right, and the officer, oh-so unsuspecting and slow, wheezed and jolted, dropping the club as he began to fall dead. Blood sprayed out of his neck, also illuminated by the glorious moon, and covered where Mr. Todd had to be standing.

She still couldn't breathe. She was listening too hard.

Her heart beat once. Then twice. And on her heart's third loud, impatient beat, Mr. Todd's bloody fingers came over the top of the sewer.

And a third.

Nellie exhaled and held onto his wrists, getting back onto her knees to help him up.

"Take hold of him," Mr. Todd ordered and she obeyed.

Nellie helped him pull the dead officer out of the sewer and then rolled his body into the corner of the alley, out of sight for the most part. She rushed back over to the open sewer and waited for Mr. Todd to come out.

He laid his hands flat on the ground and with a strained grunt, he straightened his elbows and his upper half was raised out of the sewer. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him up and he kicked out of the sewer.

"What the-"

"Where did they go?"

"After them!"

"The grate," Mr. Todd moaned, rolling onto his side and out of the way.

She quickly grabbed it and pushed it, with little difficulty over the hole and gently let it down so it didn't make any noise.

Then she pressed her ear against the grate and could hear the angry splashes of water from the shoes of all the officers down there, searching for them before the faded away.

It all seemed to be over in that moment. The chase. The escape. The moment the sounds of the officers died, no more splashing, no more shouting, no more bloody guns. It all seemed to be done with. The moment she bent over Mr. Todd and asked if he was all right, because he was looking pale and he said that always was. The moment she felt like laughing.

But in the moment she got him to sit up and she saw the small, black bullet hole that ate through his coats and shirt and nestled deep in the flesh of his shoulder blade, Nellie knew it was nowhere near over.

To Sweeney's surprise, being shot was nothing like he imagined it to be. It was painful, to be sure, but it was not necessarily as bad as he had previously thought.

For one thing, he was under the presumption it meant immediate death. And he was not dead. So, to his relief, guns or being shot by them was indeed not so terrible. However, he was slowed down, he felt that immediately. There was no rushing along now that there was a bullet in his shoulder blade.

But, he had to admit as Mrs. Lovett draped his arm over her shoulder and wrapped her other arm around his waist to help him walk, the gun was very effective. He was losing the feeling in his left arm, and it dangled loosely at his side.

If he were honest with himself, he was just thankful that it wasn't his right arm that was shot, his razor arm, his writing hand.

"What now, Mr. Todd?" Mrs. Lovett asked breathlessly as she walked as quickly as she could down the street with almost no help from him. His feet were dragging awfully.

Speaking was much more difficult than he thought it would be. "We have to… get away… from London…"

Mrs. Lovett replied, "Well, of course, I know that- but how?"

Cold sweat was beading on his forehead and his throat was tightening. "Carriage or-or a boat or…"

Warm blood was trickled down his back, he felt it. Warm, sick blood from the wound, the bullet hole. Oh, he was glad he had had the strength to kill the man who shot him, but he had still gone too slow.

He was far too weakened by a simple hole in his body…

His legs gave out and Mrs. Lovett was not able to catch him before he went down on his knees. He groaned in pain, but not from his knees. The open wound hurt, where the bullet seemed to be heating up or exploding in his skin. Releasing a poison, something… it was hurting worse than before.

"Bleeding hell…" Mrs. Lovett cursed as she struggled to get them both back on their feet.

Her voice was very far away.

"Come on, Mr. T, I can't do this meself," she grunted as she pulled them both to their feet.

His head was becoming very light.

"We have to… get out of here…" He panted, though he wasn't really sure what he was saying. All he knew was they needed to get away before the authorities found them once more.

He was positive this time, they would be caught, what with a bullet in his shoulder.

Sweeney felt very sick. Any minute he would-

His stomach churned and he keeled over as he retched onto the ground. He could barely feel Mrs. Lovett's hands on his shoulders, her voice urging him to keep going.

He knew they had to keep going… he knew it, but it was so hard to move. His muscles were becoming stiff as he struggled to walk forward. If only his body would listen to him…

Control was one thing Sweeney never liked losing.

"Oh God, you're burning up… oh… what should I do? The clinic is… but what if they're… oh, Mr. Todd…" Her voice sounded very strange. Far away, diluted, sort of like she was talking into her sleeve.

Mrs. Lovett… where was she? He had the strength to turn his head and he met her big brown eyes, full of concern and worry. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear her. He tried desperately, but he couldn't hear anything but the pounding in his ears. As his eyes rolled back, he saw a flash of her red curls and then darkness took him quicker than he could stop it.

"NO!" Nellie screamed as Mr. Todd fell forward onto the ground and remained motionless.

She couldn't stop the fall; it was all of his weight. He was just too heavy.

Her mind was too frenzied to think. She had to do something, but what? She couldn't very well pull him along, dragging his body through the streets. Not his body- Him. He wasn't dead. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.

He wasn't.

"Mr. Todd, please, we have to keep going!" She cried as she hooked her arms under his and tried to lift him from the ground.

When she let go, his arms fell right back into place, sprawled on the ground.

Oh God. Oh _God_.

She prayed to make it out of the sewers, but now she wanted to pray for them to get out of London. Was that too selfish? Could someone ask that much of a god?

He could see blood leaking out of his coat, new blood, and it slid onto the ground under him. Oh, it was worse than she ever could have imagined.

"Please…" she sobbed, struggling to turn him onto his back. His eyes were still open. Was he… She curled over him and pressed her ear against his chest.

His breathing was shallow, but there. He was still breathing.

But when she pressed her palm to his forehead, she felt a fever rapidly rising and the cold sweat beginning to run down his cheek and ears. He was alive- but for how much longer?

Nellie had to do something.

"Mr. Todd… I don't know if you can hear me, but I'll be back. I'm gonna go get help, okay?" She didn't like hearing herself talk to him like this. It felt as is she were talking to a dead man. She squeezed her eyes shut and then pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.

With that, she carefully placed his head back onto the ground and then stood up and sprinted to the local doctor.

She knew where Doctor Trollum resided quite well because in Albert's last months they frequented his house often. Of course, when Albert could no longer walk, it was just Nellie who was stuck running to the doctor for his medicines.

Once she got into the streets, it was easier to locate where they actually were. They had actually made almost an entire circle in the sewers and Fleet Street was just around the corner. Of course…

She had saved Albert's old wheelchair. Tucked away in a storage closet after he died. She had used it to wheel him from chair to couch around the house, a gift from Doctor Trollum. If all the officers were still in the sewer she would have time…

Nellie looked behind her once, in the direction of Mr. Todd, and then sprinted towards their home.

At least with a wheelchair it wouldn't draw attention to them if they had to get the doctor take a bed out to the spot where Mr. Todd was laying.

But she had to fast. Faster than fast.

She sprinted with the speed of a ten year old, the speed of the girl she used to be playing with her brothers in the field where she grew up. Nellie marveled at herself.

The door to their home came into view and she checked the street for carriages with horses as she crossed. Now that she paid attention, she noticed there was no one around, even on the main streets. The sky was just beginning to turn pink and orange.

The door was kicked down, but she gave no mind to it. She ran right over it and hurried to the door to the bake house. Without doing anything else, she locked it tightly, praying once more that there were no officers inside the house. They would be trapped in the sewer, until they found the exit that they had, but hopefully it would not be soon.

She quickly remembered Mr. Todd dying in the alley and rushed to the storage closet where she had stored Albert's wheelchair.

It was buried under piles of useless things that she tossed carelessly aside in a frenzy as she yanked it from the closet, pulling the final things loose from the closet. Her eyes rested on an old quilted blanket and an old dress that her mother had given to her many years ago. A dress she mad made quite a few sizes too big, but one that could be easily slipped on…

She grabbed the dress and started pulling it over herself, satisfied to see it fit well over her current dress which was bound to attract the attention of a doctor, or any person, should someone spot her. She grabbed the horridly green shawl that went with it, and wrapped it around her head and neck, letting it droop to hide her face. Finally, she dropped the blanket into the chair and started wheeling it out of the house, back to the alley where she left Mr. Todd.

Nellie found herself praying, once more, that he had not died while she took so long to get back. He was stronger than that… wasn't he?

Happily, she found him as quickly as she had left him. No one passed by on the streets just yet, but she was sure at any minute, the townspeople would be waking up and getting ready for the day.

Mr. Todd lay where she left him, and had not moved. She let go of the chair and ran over to him, making sure he was still breathing.

She waited, ear pressed to his chest… and then… a beat.. And another…

Sighing in relief, she once more hooked his arms around hers and lifted him up to drag him over to the chair.

It was amazing the strength she had received for this task. Sprinting like a child, lifting the man like he was a feather.

He groaned when she dropped him into the chair, and nearly protested when she wrapped the blanket around his head, to hide his profile.

"It's so they won't notice us if they find us," she explained almost annoyed, though she was just glad he was protesting something, as he usually would.

No one would recognize them at first glance. She had planned this so well, and so quickly. Now if she could just get him to Doctor Trollum in time…

Pushing him in the chair was much easier than dragging him, and though he kept groaning in protest of the rocky road, she knew she had to hurry. If she was just a second too late… never forgive herself…

She peeked around corners, looking at the street names to make sure she didn't pass 7th Avenue.

4th.

5th.

6th.

At 7th Avenue, she turned the corner sharply, nearly causing Mr. Todd to fall out of the chair. She apologized under her breath, but paid no attention, as she was searching for the sign that said "Ludo Street." Doctor Trollum's clinic was located at the corner of Ludo and 7th.

She passed Scarlet Street and Fleet Street and tried to assure herself the doctor's clinic was beyond Fleet Street. She knew it was, she knew, she was just unsure…

King Street, and then to her immense relief, Ludo Street was right there, as was Doctor Trollum's clinic, right on the corner.

She left the wheelchair at the bottom of the steps and clambered up the steps. She knocked on the door rapidly, as loud as she could, ignoring the cracking skin covering her knuckles. She didn't stop until Doctor Trollum opened the door, still in his night shirt, frowning as he put his eyeglasses on.

"What the devil-"

Nellie promptly cut him off. "Doctor, you have to help me! It's Mr. Todd- he's been shot! He-"

"Little Nellie Lovett, well, what brings you here-" The doctor apparently hadn't heard anything she said and was beginning to smile in familiarity.

"Doctor!" She cried, causing his smile to go right back to a frown, but she didn't feel sorry at all. Mr. Todd was _dying._ "My friend has been shot, sir, I need your help!"

Immediately, Doctor Trollum was all business. "Shot, you say? Where? When did this happen? Well, get him up here, then!"

Nellie went back down the stairs and struggled to get the wheels over them. "Yes, shot. In his- on the back of his shoulder, you'll see, and it was just a coupla' minutes ago… maybe fifteen or so. Could you…?"

Doctor Trollum grabbed the chair and pulled him up the rest of the way. He took hold of the chair and wheeled him into the clinic and into one of the private rooms.

She followed him and tried asking if he would be okay, but the doctor threw the blanket towards her which she had to catch before it hit her in the face.

"What-"

"I'll need to be alone while I operate," the doctor said, pulling bottles of medicine and needles and pliers out from his cabinet. "Wait out there, I'll fetch you when I'm finished," the Doctor cut her off this time, and snapped the door shut with such abruptness it was if he had slammed it in her face.

Nellie was left standing there, quite alone, holding the blood-covered blanket loosely at her side in the middle of the silent room. Left to stand there and wait.

To wait and see if Mr. Todd would live… or die.

-


	6. Toil and Trouble

All the Difference.

Toil and Trouble.

* * *

_Double, double toil and trouble  
Fire burn and cauldron bubble  
Something wicked this way comes._

* * *

The ticking and chiming of the stupid grandfather clock in the waiting room was driving Nellie insane. Not only was it annoying and grating on her brain with every insistent tick or tock and marking of the hour, but she couldn't even see it to know how much time had passed. The longer she waited, it seemed, the worse it would be. She didn't care about the actual time of day. All she needed to know was how long they'd been there.

However, the clock was hidden from her and she couldn't know. It seemed it's only purpose was to drive her mad.

Bloody, stupid thing.

She had tried counting the ticks each second made, but lost track quickly. Since there were four distinct bells for each quarter of an hour, she was able to count those after the first dozen or so, but they all sounded the same. She lost track of the hours, as well.

But what she did know that exactly fourteen other people had come into the clinic since she had arrived. None of them, however, had been shot, severely burned, cut, or near death, so the doctor had said and shooed them away to come back later.

Five of them had returned a short while later, angry and swearing to be seen by the doctor, but he sent them away once more.

Nellie couldn't say she was particularly displeased about that, since she only cared about Mr. Todd anyway. For all she cared, Mrs. Mooney could have come in with a severed finger. Or two. Or three. Or ten. It didn't matter.

_Nothing_ mattered.

Nothing, of course, but Mr. Todd.

A few of the other patients had tried making conversation with her while they waited only to be sent away by the doctor. Some of the more polite people asked her what the doctor was doing, who was in there with him, how she was, and a few particularly clever folk even asked if it was Mr. Todd in the operating room with the doctor. She assured them the doctor would be done soon, no it wasn't Mr. Todd, and she would be just fine.

Nellie hoped that's what Mr. Todd would have wanted, if he could have told her. Better to let them think things were just fine until they were completely exposed.

She had stood in the same spot for the longest time, and then began pacing. She paced the entire room, and then started searching for the grandfather clock, but couldn't find it anywhere. So she continued pacing. But then, it reminded her of Mr. Todd, so she stopped and decided to sit.

The row of chairs she sat in were lined up along the window, and she had watched the sunrise for awhile through the crack in the dusty curtains. Then she began thinking of what it would have been like.

What, she wondered, it would have been like if the beadle had not come to their house that night. That night? That wasn't right. Last night… was it just last night? It felt like ages ago. Another lifetime. She was a different Nellie Lovett. He was a different Sweeney Todd. Still not Benjamin Barker, the one she longed to have for so many years. But as she thought more about it, Nellie realized she didn't even need Benjamin anymore anyway.

It was strange… Before last night, if that was really when it was, there was a part of her that longed for Benjamin Barker to return. She looked at Mr. Todd and saw Benjamin, lying just under the surface, but as time went on, Benjamin became harder and harder to see. Still there, but more obscure.

And last night- just last night- when she looked at him, Benjamin Barker was no longer lurking under the surface of Mr. Todd's skin. He was just as he was. Sweeney Todd. He had his revenge; it was as if his duty had been fulfilled and the soul of Benjamin Barker finally crossed over, finally left Mr. Todd's body.

And it changed nothing. It changed nothing of the way she felt for him.

She loved him despite of everything. Even as Sweeney Todd.

Was that supposed to comfort her? It left her feeling just as empty as before.

Nellie rested her head on the window and watched the pink clouds roll slowly across the sky.

He still couldn't love her.

What it would have been like if Toby had not seen Pirelli's purse when she suggested he buy them some toffees with some allowance money? Would he be alive now? Or what if they had found him in the sewers? She would have watched her adopted son die anyway, even if it wasn't by her hand.

But the one 'what if' that kept running through her mind was the one that troubled her the most. The most dangerous. What if Mr. Todd had not killed Lucy… and if he had killed Nellie herself.

She turned her head from the sky and buried it in the blanket she had wrapped around Mr. Todd, willing herself not to think about that one. Nothing but trouble. The blood that had soaked into the blanket was nearly dry, but it was still pungent and she moved it before the sick smell made her retch as Mr. Todd had earlier.

But… but, it still smelled like Mr. Todd, under all the stink of the blood. When she breathed in deeply, the blanket pressed right under her nose, she could smell Mr. Todd's distinct scent. The man, of course, the smell that came with him. And the smell of soap, whether it was from bathing or from the lather he used to shave his customers, it was him.

And inhaling Mr. Todd was worth ignoring nostrils full of the stench of blood. It wasn't as if it was anything new.

But nothing, not even the comfort of Mr. Todd's scent could make Nellie stop worrying. She was distraught with worry. She figured since she had reached the doctor, she had broken into tears eight times. She just couldn't help it.

The sun was now fully in the sky, still low, but with every minute she feared the officers would burst through the door and arrest her and leave Mr. Todd for dead. Her eyes shifted between the two doors in the room, the entrance to the office and the door to the operating room where Mr. Todd was.

And the ticking of the grandfather clock was still driving her insane.

Her heart leapt when she heard the door handle turn and it stuck in her throat. Doctor Trollum stepped out of the room, wiping blood from his hands with a cloth.

Nellie struggled to get up despite her quivering legs and she went right up to Doctor Trollum. She opened her mouth, but the question she wanted to ask did not come out.

He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes wearily. "You may see him."

All the worry that was pitting in her stomach and bubbling, making her sick, evaporated. Melted away. Gone- just like that.

She pushed past the doctor and ran into the room to Mr. Todd's side. He was lying on the operating table, still on his stomach, his head turned to the side to keep from squishing his nose on the hard wood beneath him. His shirt had been removed so she could see the bandages covering his shoulder and part of his back. There were so many… and she could see the spot on his back where the blood had bled through.

"Oh…" She breathed, coming up to and bending over the table to smooth his hair away from his face. She couldn't help running her fingers through the streak of white hair. He mumbled in protest, his face scrunching up in dislike.

Holding back a smile, she removed her hand. Even while he was experiencing the most pain in the world, he could still mutter in protest. That small, characteristic grunt of displeasure that he had.

The Sweeney Todd that she loved, not the Benjamin Barker.

Her eyes rolled from the white streak and the mass of black hair down his neck and rested on the white strips of gauze and tape. She ran her fingers lightly over the bandages. They were secured around his shoulder with large pieces of tape and there seemed to be a sling wrapped around his arm. He winced slightly as she graced the core of the wound with her fingertips, but he made no move, he said nothing.

Nellie had never felt this relieved before.

"This thing did not want to come out," Doctor Trollum was saying behind her, but she paid no attention to him. She wrapped an arm around Mr. Todd's back and the other she buried in his hair. "You should have come to me much sooner. The bullet wouldn't have been so lodged in his flesh. All that moving about."

Her stomach turned and she rested her head on his shoulder lightly, thanking whoever or whatever she had been praying to all that day, once more, that they were both alive and well.

"I don't expect he'll be using that arm anytime soon, either. The bullet must have struck a nerve in his shoulder. I'm not sure how permanent it will be, but I do have some medication that he can use. Might help it along a bit, but I can't make any promises to you, Nellie…"

His arm, useless… oh, he wouldn't take kindly to that. Especially if he decided to open another shop. A one-armed barber, that wouldn't be good for business at all. Tears stung her eyes again.

She _wished_ she had been shot. Mr. Todd didn't deserve this…

Trollum still droned on behind her, but she tuned him out. She couldn't ruin this moment. She didn't know when she would get another chance like this. To be so close to him, to be with him at all.

Nellie took a breath and held it as she pressed her face into his shoulder. One moment. One breath.

_Treasure this, Nellie. Who knows what is going to happen what is going to happen tomorrow. The next hour. Minute. Second. _

After that one, special moment…

She exhaled and began planning their next escape.

Her mind was already racing with ideas of how to get out, how to get away. Townspeople were up and about. They'd seen her- oh no, they would tell the police where she'd been! Why did she let them see her? Oh, she was so daft. If she hadn't been so worried about Mr. Todd, none of this…

Well, what could she have done, anyway?

She shook her head, trying to shake more guilty thoughts away. Mr. Todd wouldn't be angry at her- so long as she had a plan to get them out. He was in no state to be doing all the thinking. She wouldn't have it if he was, anyway.

"Mr. T…" She whispered, only a little desperately, and then by some magic his eyes opened, searching for and finding her face for a brief moment.

"Mrs. Lovett?"

The voice didn't belong to Mr. Todd. Oh, how she wished it had been.

A firm hand landed on her shoulder and the blood in her veins ran cold. Chunks of ice, blocking the flow to her heart. Nellie turned her head around to see Doctor Trollum handing the bullet to her.

"What's that? There- on your neck," Trollum asked, his fingertips tracing a line along the back of her neck, and curved around to trail off on her throat. She couldn't see the mark, but she knew exactly what it was. She could almost still feel Mr. Todd's fingers from when he latched on to her neck, bracing them both as he readied to throw her into the raging fire from bake oven.

Nellie realized she had her mouth open and she probably looked like she was reliving a nightmare. Well, she was. But she couldn't let Doctor Trollum know that.

She smiled brightly. "Oh that? Probably just a spot o' dirt from cleaning up shop. No matter," she wiped at her neck and reached for the bullet that still laid in the doctor's other hand. She took it, trying to will her hands not to shake. When the small, metal bullet was in her fingers, it was still warm and made her shiver.

But before she could draw her hand back to herself, Trollum grabbed her own bandaged fingers. Just gently enough not to cause pain, but firm enough to keep them well within his grasp. The bullet dropped to the floor and rolled away with an almost musical sound before it stopped with a light _clink. _

And then he began rolling her sleeve back.

"What the devil-?"

Nellie could see the blood smears on the bandages that were wrapped around her fingers. She watched him as he inspected the torn sleeve of the dress she had on underneath, too terrified to move, her body and brain frozen.

By the time he got to her elbow, she finally snapped out of it. She tried wrenching away from him, but he wouldn't let go. Trollum secured his hand around her wrist where there weren't any bandages, just bruises that made her inhale sharply. He was frowning, pulling the sleeve of the dress further and further up her arm.

"Let go of me! Let go!" She was demanding, but he ignored her. It was horrible. A doctor shouldn't have had that much strength. Nellie wriggled away from him, bumping into the operating table several times, making Mr. Todd grunt as he struggled to move.

He was trying. She needed to try harder.

"What on earth happened?" The doctor was relentless.

Nellie had to move away from Mr. Todd. He was trying to turn over, to make sense of what was happening. He could hear her cries and he was trying to help her. But he was in no condition- she had to stop him from moving too much. If she was the reason for anymore pain caused by him…

She spun around, trading places with Trollum while still struggling to get away from the doctor and his prying hands. If he saw her dress, he would know something was wrong. Everything would be ruined.

With all the strength she had, she pulled her arm back to herself and her sleeve tore, leaving the length of it in Doctor Trollum's hand. He inspected it for a moment before he tossed it aside, more interested in her other sleeve, the one shredded and covered in dried blood.

He closed the space between them.

"Stop it!" She cried rushing to the corner- and regretting it immediately. He had her trapped with no escape, and one arm out of it's sleeve.

"I am a doctor, Nellie, I have a right to know-"

"Mr. Todd!" The dress came up and over her ears and head, revealing her tattered, awful, ruined dress beneath.

Doctor Trollum looked her up and down with an appalled expression from behind his glasses. The dress was clutched tightly in his hand before he let it drop to the floor.

Nellie slowly inched away, sliding along the wall away from him and towards Mr. Todd. His eyes followed her, his body turning with his gaze as she backed into the table, feeling for Mr. Todd as she did so.

Doctor Trollum pulled off his glasses and regarded her with a careful expression. "How, again, did you say Mr. Todd was shot?" He asked, his words careful and slow.

"It-It was an accident…" She replied, "We- it was an accident…"

The doctor drew back, unreadable emotions spreading across his face. She just couldn't make sense of anything. Jumbled, garbled thoughts- and she used to be so quick too. All she could do was to try and think of a way to escape. How to get her and Mr. Todd out? There was a window there, the fall wouldn't be far down. If she could lift up Mr. Todd- but with his injury… if she got him half way out, she could jump out and pull him…

"I demand to know what is going on here!" Doctor Trollum shouted angrily, striding over to her.

"Doctor Trollum, open up!"

They both froze.

_Oh God._

The police- the officers- they were there.

Trollum immediately started for the door and Nellie sprung into action. Without even thinking, she reached for Mr. Todd's razor and pulled it out of its holster. She flipped it open and grabbed Doctor Trollum's shirt in a fistful.

At last, she was good for something again.

She pressed the razor into neck and whispered fiercely, "Tell them we're not here."

Fear was beginning to cloud in his eyes as he really felt the thin edge of the razor against his hammering pulse.

"Tell them; or I'll- I'll kill you," Nellie almost decided on. She wouldn't really- couldn't, but she needed to keep Doctor Trollum in her control. "I'll kill you, Doctor, if you don't tell them we just left. Tell 'em we-we were heading north, do you hear? I swear-"

"Yes-," he rasped, cutting her off desperately, "Yes, fine. I will. Just let me go so I can tell them," he pleaded breathlessly, trying to inch away from the razor.

Nellie let go of him, but kept the razor at his neck. "Tell them, then come back here."

He slid out from under the razor and walked briskly to the door, looking back several times at her as if she'd lost her mind.

Well, Nellie was certain she had either lost her mind ages ago, or she was just as sane as anyone.

As soon as the doctor was at the door, she hastily shut the door to the operating room and locked it. With the razor still clutched firmly in her hand, she rushed back over to Mr. Todd and tried pulling him up.

"Mr. T, please, wake up," she shook his good shoulder, trying to get him up. "I need your help, please, Mr. Todd, I…"

He groaned and grunted as he rolled to the side to face her. His head lolled to the side, but he maintained his balance as he took in his surrounding before his eyes closed.

"Oh! Oh, thank God you're okay…" She whispered, hiding more tears beneath the hand still clutching his razor. To think he got up when she said she needed him. She wouldn't be forgetting that one soon.

He propped himself up on his right arm, and she felt very proud of him for doing so. So quick, he was. If she'd been shot, she wouldn't move for days.

But he didn't quite share her joy.

"Mrs. Lovett…" He breathed, his voice very scratchy and deep. "I can't move my arm."

He was staring down at the sling and by the look of concentration screwed up on his face, he appeared to be trying to move it.

Breaking her heart.

"Yes, yes, I know, Mr. T. The doctor said- oh, the doctor! Mr. T, the police- they're right outside!" She whispered urgently, and his eyes flew open. "I told Trollum to tell them we just left; heading north. I don't know what he's going to do though."

Mr. Todd looked towards the door and said, "Help me sit up."

Nellie stood up and realized she still had the razor in her hand. He spotted it too and looked up at her with a cocked eyebrow in question.

"Oh, I'm sorry- I needed something to use to get him to listen to me," she explained, folding the razor to a close and tucking it back into his holster.

"You mean to tell me you threatened him with my razor?"

She froze until she saw the look on his face. He was almost _smiling_. Nellie couldn't answer back- she was mesmerized.

"Well done, Mrs. Lovett," he said as he got to his feet, and she didn't know quite what to make of his words.

Prideful, a little embarrassed, but too, too joyful. She suppressed a grin with much difficulty. Well, he'd never flat-out encouraged her before, not really. He'd called her clever, practical…

_'How I've lived without all these years I'll never know…'_

Nellie shook herself.

"Right then, so what do we do?" She asked, tucking stray hairs behind her ears.

"Shirt," he said, adjusting the sling around his neck.

She looked around and found his shirt, his vest and his coats draped on one of the doctor's chairs. All bloody, the stains would never come out. She didn't have any bleach with her either. They would need new clothes entirely when they got wherever it was they were going.

They wasted precious seconds trying to pulled the shirt over his head, but with the sling on his arm, it wouldn't go through the sleeve.

"Just take it with us. Coat."

Nellie helped his good arm into the coat and draped the other over his shoulder. She started clasping it but he waved her off.

"We need to leave now. We'll deal with it later," he told her and she nodded, collecting his other articles of clothing and tucking them under her sleeve.

They both searched the room making sure nothing of theirs was left behind. Nellie's eyes rested on the medication.

"Wait, that bottle there," she nodded in motion to the tall, amber bottle on the shelf behind the table. "He said that that stuff was for you."

He glared at it and finally said, "Take it with us."

She moved around the operating table where just minutes ago Mr. Todd was nearly unconscious. She grabbed the bottle. Before she turned away, a green bottle caught her eye, some kind of pain medicine. Well, they'd definitely be needing that. Especially if they didn't have any gin. She grabbed it and tucked it under her other arm. A smaller, purplish bottle stuck out at her as well. It was marked 'Sleep' in Doctor Trollum's handwriting and she grabbed that one as well. The heavens knew Mr. Todd wouldn't sleep on his own.

She grabbed a few more, and realized her arms were full. She realized with more horror that the bag they had brought along with them was still out in the waiting room.

"Mr. Todd, the bag- it's out there still," she told him.

He stared down disdainfully at the all the bottles she was carrying, but only for a moment. There was no time to be angry with her.

Reaching down into his holster, his took his razor out and flipped it open. He strode over to the door and pressed his ear against the wood. He listened for a moment before he looked at her.

"I can't hear what they're saying, but he's still talking to them," he informed her, then pressed his ear back against the door. Nellie couldn't hear anything from where she was standing, so she looked around the room.

She found some extra bandages and decided she had better take those as well. She could figure out how to use them later.

Tape, spare cloths, slings… she grabbed everything she could fit in her arms. Then, there was a hesitant knock at the door.

Nellie looked up at Mr. Todd, asking silently for him to tell her what to do.

His head jerked to the side and she immediately dove into the corner of the room. Mr. Todd checked to make sure she was in place before he turned back to the door.

"Trollum?" He asked cautiously, his voice low. But in no way did he sound frightened. If anything, whenever Mr. Todd's voice grew lower, it only made his words come across more dangerous.

There was no answer. Either it was the law, or dear Doctor Trollum was as scared as Nellie was by his deep tone.

Four of her heartbeats passed before they heard, "Todd?" come from the other side of the door. Oh yes. Trollum was petrified.

Mr. Todd cautiously opened the door, peeking through the crack after he opened every centimeter. When the door was close to a foot open, he let the doctor back in.

"You-" Doctor Trollum said, spinning around once he was inside and backing up so he could face both of them… as if it would help. "You shouldn't be on your feet already. I just finished operating-"

"Mrs. Lovett, fetch your bag," Mr. Todd told her and she went at once into the other room to stuff all the new items into the bag.

The door snapped shut behind her gently and then she heard two loud clicks.

Mr. Todd had locked the door.

A slight shiver of unsettlement passed over her, but she forced it down. The doctor needed to be taken care of, hadn't he?

There was no question about it. Nellie opened the bag and started stuffing in all the medical supplies. If they left him there, unharmed, he might run to the authorities as soon as they were out the door. They couldn't risk that.

She made sure all the medicine bottles made of glass where carefully wrapped with- SLICE- cloths around them so if they were jostled around- THUD- they wouldn't be broken and wasted, soaked into all their other belongings.

Boots dragging along the floor, that must be Mr. Todd dragging the body somewhere for hiding. Sensible.

The bag was easily five pounds heavier, but not so heavy she couldn't lift it. She grabbed the handles and hoisted the bag into the air, swinging it over her shoulder. She swayed, but stayed firm, feeling stronger when she didn't fall down.

A few moments later, the door unlocked and swung open.

Mr. Todd stepped into the room, shutting the other behind him. He slid the surface of the razor across his trousers, and then flipped it to the other side, wiping the blood off straight away. His razor was once again spotless and silver.

"Got everything?" He asked, inspecting the razor briefly before tucking it away once more.

"Yeah, I think so," she said, looking around the room before she remembered that the doctor's office was not their home and everything they had taken was in their bag.

He nodded. "We can leave through that door. It'll take us through an alley and into the back roads of London. If we're lucky we can evade the law that way without being seen by any other people."

"Yeah, hopefully they've kept quite 'bout us. Last thing we need is 'wanted' posters spread all over town…"

He agreed with a small 'mm' sound and then walked up to her. "I'll take that," he said, reaching for the strap to the bag.

Nellie was flabbergasted. "Mr. T! You just been shot. I'm sorry, but there's no way I'm letting you carry this heavy ol' thing through town. You shouldn't even be walking…"

"The bag," he said again, more forcefully.

"I'm putting my foot down, Mr. T. Now let's go before the law decides to pop in for another visit," she said crisply, walking past him and right up to the door that led to the alley.

He hadn't moved, or she hadn't heard him move, so she turned around.

"Mr. Todd?"

He stood very much in the same spot, his face very much shocked as he gaped at her. She could read his mind, for once.

_She disobeyed me._

But the outburst or insistent demand didn't come. He straightened, winced, clutched his arm, and then followed her out of the door into the sunny backstreets of London.

-


	7. The Darkness of London

All the Difference. 

The Darkness of London.

* * *

_We keep each other warm.  
Love on the rocks with no ice,  
You'd do anything for a quiet life._

* * *

He was trying to work out the details of what had happened in the operating room while he was waiting.

Sweeney couldn't remember much of anything at the moment. He remembered leaving their home on Fleet street. The Sewer. Lots of rats. Scurrying. Running, just like them. And the officers, with their burning lamps flickering as they ran. The fire, that was one of things he saw when he closed his eyes. He was sure he dreamt of it when he passed out last. Fire from the lamps, fire from the oven. Mrs. Lovett. Lucy. Mrs.… _Bang._ And being shot. God, he was honestly surprised he was alive. He'd never felt anything so terrible. Not even his memories. Everything after that was a little foggy.

He woke when he heard a voice. At the time it sounded like Lucy, or a choir of angels. But as he came to, he realized the choir was not of angels; it was Mrs. Lovett, begging for him. It took all his strength to move, but by the sounds that were barely registering, she really had needed him, which made it easier to wake.

He couldn't explain why.

There was no doubt she had been in trouble. But she never explained and he didn't have the energy to ask.

"Ready?" Mrs. Lovett asked as she shut the door behind her. Once they left the doctor's office, she realized she needed that other dress she had brought along after she went back to her shop to fetch more items. He admitted she needed it as well. Her dress looked awful. Bloody, torn, dirty. It would raise attention no matter where they went.

He nodded, looking over the plain blue garment that hid her dress well.

They set off again.

"I grabbed some extra clothes for you as well. Don't know 'bout you, but I'm not the only one who needs more than one pair of clothing," she was saying as she led them down the street and then back into yet another alleyway.

Sweeney didn't listen much after that.

Two things were running through his mind. First, and more importantly, the pain in his arm. Why couldn't he just will it away, block it out from his mind? He was so accustomed to that, after torment and torture in Australian prison. But then, he had never been shot before either. And the second thing that was nagging at his brain was what exactly they were doing. Even more importantly: why.

Escaping. Why run? He was so tired. In so much pain. It wasn't going to be an easy task to dodge all the officers in London, and then wherever they went after that. If the authorities ever figured out how many people they had killed, surely they would search for them. And he was exhausted. Why? Why were they running like this?

No. He knew why. And he almost hated himself for it.

He stumbled, but recovered quickly, before Mrs. Lovett noticed. Even though he didn't fall, she still looked back, asking if he was all right.

"Fine."

If he just focused on walking, the pain wasn't too terrible.

"Mrs. Lovett," he said.

She looked back. "Yes? Yes, what is it, Mr. Todd? Do you need some medicine or-"

"No. I was just thinking about-" he pressed his fingers into his eyes, trying to alleviate the pain behind them. "-about the law. Even if we do escape, they're still going to be looking for us. I mean, I don't know how many I've killed, but-"

"Seventy-three," Mrs. Lovett cut in.

Sweeney was taken back. How did she know?

"Give or take, seventy-three, I mean. I was keeping track until… until last night," she hesitated and looked back at him hesitantly before she quickly looked forward again and didn't cast another glance.

Seventy-three, plus the beadle and the judge. That made seventy-five, which made Lucy…

"Seventy-six," he said aloud, more to himself than to Mrs. Lovett.

He heard her clear her throat, but she said nothing more. Neither did he. He couldn't even remember what he had been trying to say to begin with. His mind was going fuzzy again.

With all the hatred he could muster, ignoring the headache throbbing, he glared down at his arm.

_Move. Move, you god forsaken appendage. Move!_

Sweeney tried rotating his shoulder, but his shoulder wasn't having it. Wouldn't budge, wouldn't move.

_It will. Must keep trying._

What use was he with only one arm?

_Useless. Mrs. Lovett is giving the orders now._

He hated that more than anything.

How long had they been walking now?

There were people in the alleys, but no one who knew who they were, no one of consequence. Beggars and prostitutes. Children playing with stray dogs and cats, running through the dirty, garbage filled alleyways that wreaked of urine.

That at least, was comforting.

"How's your arm doing?" Mrs. Lovett asked for possibly the hundredth time since they left Doctor Trollum's office.

Sweeney suppressed his snarl with all the willpower he could muster. "Fine- for the last time, Mrs. Lovett."

She grumbled something to herself so he couldn't hear what she was complaining about. He knew it was nothing he would appreciate all that much.

"Well, pardon me, then Mr. Todd," she said, more than a little angry, now loud enough for him to register her words.

He stared forward, above the top of her much-messier-than normal hair to keep a lookout for others.

In truth, his arm was in excruciating pain. But if Mrs. Lovett knew that, who knew where they would be. She would make them stop and rest. She'd fret and worry and make him stay put. Try helping him, using the medicine she took from the doctor's office, fussing over the wound until she was sure he felt better.

But he had no desire to stay there, in London, any longer.

The memories, the nightmares; they were catching up with him.

It was funny how a bullet to the shoulder blade made him realize that.

He loathed to admit it, and probably never would, but when he had been shot by the officer down in the sewers, he felt fear. He hadn't been afraid of anything since he'd left his old life, sent to prison on the false charge by Judge Turpin. Even then, there had been few things he feared.

Benjamin Barker feared his father, when he was a small lad, always shouting and drunk and demanding better of him. Barker also feared his master, when he was an apprentice to an old barber with a shaky hand that insisted on showing Barker how the art was done with himself as the example. He was frightened by Lucy, when he met her, enticed and frightened by her beauty and perfection. He was worried about her health while she carried Johanna, as she had been getting sick so often. He feared Johanna wouldn't make it.

But that was long ago. And those fears were always quelled as he overcame them. His father died. His old master died. Lucy gave birth to a healthy girl, but they were both dead to him now, or might as well have been in Johanna's case. Now… now it was he who would die, and he certainly couldn't overcome fear if he were dead.

And so, he carved the vulnerable parts out of him in his cell, leaving nothing but strength, hatred, and vengeance. Strength in himself, hatred towards the world, vengeance… just vengeance.

And hanging there from the sewer… staring into _her_ eyes… he genuinely feared he would die. Never, never had he been afraid of death. Well, maybe a little, as Benjamin Barker, but not as Sweeney Todd. Why should anyone be afraid of death if there was nothing to live for?

Sweeney only wished that was just what it was.

In truth, he feared what would happen to her, Mrs. Lovett… if he was to die.

Damn her.

In one night she had single-handedly helped kill his wife, saved his daughter, killed her adopted son, helped them both escape, got him out of the sewers after he had been shot, got him to the doctor before he died, and managed to change everything he stood for.

_Damn_ her.

His eyes drifted down to the top of her head where strands of curls spilled down her neck. It occurred to him he had never seen her wear her hair down. It occurred to him he shouldn't be thinking about things such as that.

Especially now.

He groaned low in pain from his arm, low enough so she couldn't hear him.

It seemed that pain was coursing through his arm like a current. Starting in his shoulder, flowing shockingly down his arm to his fingers and back up. For an appendage that he couldn't even move, it was more of hassle than he could stand.

If he was able to move his arm, that would have been different entirely. He could have easily endured the pain to use the arm, ignoring the pain until it went away, but even though his bones and muscles and tendons and nerves screamed in agony, he couldn't even twitch a finger.

If his eyes weren't focused on an object, his head swam with dizziness. He tried not to let them wander off any mark until they passed it. One false move and he'd go down.

Every once in a while, Mrs. Lovett would look back. She would either just stare at him, her brown eyes big and full of nothing but concern, or she would annoyingly ask again if he was all right.

He was all right. He was.

So long as he kept repeating that, he would be fine. Over again in his head. Focus on one thing, one thing only. Not the pain. It was all mental. Pain was mental. In the mind. Easily controlled and mastered, but not easily rid of. The longer he could keep it under control-

Sweeney stumbled, but Mrs. Lovett was a step ahead of him. She caught him with difficulty, managing to keep the bag from dropping as well.

Unable to help himself, he slumped onto her, his brain spinning in his head.

All mental, just in the head, control it, control it…

"Hang on," Mrs. Lovett grunted under him, trying to keep him from falling while setting the bag down.

Her grip slipped and he swayed, barely managing to stop his forehead from colliding with the stone wall behind him by extending his right arm at the last second. However, then Mrs. Lovett was trapped between the wall and him and he couldn't move; his legs were locked.

He bent his arm and let his elbow take the impact as he rested his head on the wall.

Weak.

"Mr. T?"

She grabbed him around the waist fully and started turning him, or at least, attempted to turn him. But with all his weight on the wall, he wasn't about to let go.

"All right, I need a bit of help here," she winced from under him.

"Give me a second and we can go again," he managed to say, trying to press his left arm to his head before he remembered he couldn't move it. His other was still wrapped around Mrs. Lovett and resting on the wall for support, and he couldn't reach.

"Oh no, Mr. Todd, we're resting, and I don't want to hear one complaint out of that mouth of yours," she said with finality and set the bag down against the stone of the building they had stopped by.

Complain? He barely had the energy to speak.

Mrs. Lovett once again grabbed him around the waist and said, "Now, I've got you. Just push off from the wall a bit before you suck the life right out of me."

He once wished for that. To take the life from her.

Sweeney did as she said, much as he hated doing so, and gritted his teeth as his head swam in protest.

"All right, now kneel down, I'll help you," she coaxed him to his knees, going right down with him. She helped him to the ground and he turned the side, reclining into the wall, careful not to let his bad shoulder rest against the hard stone.

It took more effort than he thought it would. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow and he wiped at them with the sleeve of his coat. At this rate, they would never get out of London.

He still didn't have his shirt on.

"Do you want some of the pain medicine now?" She asked hesitantly, coming around to face him and kneeling beside him so he could see her. She was dabbing at his face with some cloth.

He couldn't risk it. Pain medicine could make him drowsy or incoherent. If he wasn't already. Was he? He needed to be useful, needed to be…

"Mr. T, it will be fine. I can take care of us 'till you get better," Mrs. Lovett said, fishing around in the bag for the bottle that she wanted.

Had he said that out loud?

Sweeney felt her hand on his face, tilting it up to get his mouth open. He waved her hand away.

"Stop it," she said, swatting his own hand away from hers. She was still wiping his face with that cloth of hers, and it smelled like her. He knew because it rested against his nose. How could it smell like her? She hadn't had it all that long.

And how did he know what she smelled like? He had never smelled her before. Had he?

The smell… the smell of…

He waved her hand away. Again. But his arm was being crushed to the ground as it was and he was forced to let it drop there.

"Mr. Todd," she exhaled his name in exasperation, pinning his hand to the stone beneath them with her own. He wished desperately that he could use the other to shove her off, but all his strength was leaving him. His vision was fading as well.

Black was surrounding Mrs. Lovett's face, and her lips were moving. Warm fingers pressed onto his cold forehead. All he saw was those brown eyes of hers, and all he smelled was that smell of hers.

"Dai-Daisies…"

And he let himself slip.

It was all so unfair.

Nellie sighed.

"There he goes, fainting on me again," she said to herself. Nellie adjusted him to a position she hoped was the least painful for him. "Daisies? What the devil is that supposed to mean?"

Then she tried deciding how she could get him to take the medicine.

Well, he needed that medicine in him now, or they really weren't going to leave London. She knew he wasn't fine by the way he kept talking aloud the whole time. And the things he was saying.

Butterflies tickled her stomach with their feathery wings, but she didn't want to think about all that now. She already felt bad hearing him say all those things. It felt like she'd read his diary or something else vulgar like that.

Nellie uncorked the bottle and dropped the cork nearby. Then she wondered how she was going to get him to swallow the dose.

She tried tilting his head, but it only lolled back down the side. Fear seized her heart for a moment and she double-checked to make sure he was still breathing.

For a moment there was nothing. Then a small breath was pushed out of his nose and she sighed in relief.

It would be impossible for him to take the medicine while sleeping… or unconscious, without risking some sort of asphyxiation on his part. Last thing she wanted was for him to choke on medication after they survived the sewers, being shot, going through an operation, escaping the doctors office, and getting as far as they did. She would have to wait until he woke up.

By the looks of it, they were still in London. But they were definitely in the outskirts. She hoped they were heading the right way. If the authorities assumed they were heading north, they were going to the southernmost part of England, perhaps even farther. There wasn't that much farther to go south, until they hit the water. And after all, France wasn't that far off. And once the authorities realized they were nowhere near north England, they would undoubtedly search elsewhere. Only be a matter of time before they were caught.

But perhaps if they were in France… it would certainly be harder to find them in another country.

She could just see it. A charming little apartment, much like their last home. Oh, off the coast of Cherbourg, maybe. By the sea, just like she always wanted. She gave a sideway glance to Mr. Todd wearily. Of course, it _was_ what she had always wanted, but now… everything was different now.

On the other hand, she could just see it all in her mind. Their home fit cozy between a row of apartments that lined the road. Floral shops all about, the smell of freshly baked bread and the salt of the sea wafting down the street. Then there'd be the tailors, the seamstresses, the butchers, the grocers, all the normal things, all fitting perfectly and in their place on the street.

She could watch the bustle from her window, making pies, what she did best. Meat pies, fruit pies, candy pies. Well, she'd always wanted to expand her sales. Perhaps that was the perfect way. And to see Mr. Todd all she had to do was climb the stairs and there he'd be, waiting for his customers to slink their way into his chair.

Of course, that begged her to wonder if he would keep killing the customers that came to him. Would it even be wise to do?

On the one hand, her sales definitely did go up with a more… hearty kind of meat. It didn't necessarily bother her; they were just strangers. And people in France were far more strange than the ones in London. But then, it would be long before the same thing happened all over again.

The last image of Toby suddenly flashed in her mind. His lifeless body sprawled on the ground, blood pooling under his head as blank eyes stared terrified, even in death, at the ceiling.

What had she been thinking? She gasped for air painfully as if someone had just punched her in the stomach.

Had she forgotten what she'd told herself while she waited for Mr. Todd to return? She was not a murderer. She wasn't. And carrying on the way they were was nowhere to live. Nothing but murder, treachery… just awful, awful things.

Mr. Todd, he'd gotten his revenge. No more killings should be necessary.

Right?

Nellie sighed and leaned back against the wall as well, re-corking the medicine bottle and stuffing it back into their belongings.

She was becoming one giant, emotional wreck. Why couldn't simple thoughts of the sea pacify her anymore?

She grabbed all the money they'd saved up from working together and took that with her. It certainly would have been a shame if they couldn't buy a proper house once they got wherever they're going. On the run and homeless was twice as miserable as just being on the run.

Fugitives… escaping. Mr. Todd was mumbling something about escape earlier. Asking himself 'why' over and over again until he finally changed the subject with himself.

_"No, no, I know why. And I hate myself for it."_

She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes and frowned. The list of guesses at what he meant could go on forever. She'd ever know; and dared not ask him about it. She already felt guilty enough.

_But not so guilty as to tell him he was thinking out loud._

That would have embarrassed him. So she kept quiet. Didn't stop her from acting shocked though at some of the things he said. His mind was truly… dizzying.

Apparently, she changed his views on everything. What did that mean? She wondered. And he damned her for it. Well, she damned him too.

Damn him for making her such a bloody wreck. Trying to kill her, then saving her, and making her return the favor.

No… she couldn't possibly damn him, even if he had tried to kill her. He was angry. She had been lying to him.

They were over it now. Weren't they?

She was. Was he?

Come to think of it, she was awfully tired as well. But she didn't have the help of a bullet wound as an excuse. She was just plain tired…

Nellie curled around their bag so no one could take it. Not without a fight anyway.

She checked on Mr. Todd one more time, who hadn't moved an inch since he fainted. After deliberating it with her mind, Nellie decided it would be impossible for him to wake before she did. He hadn't slept in so long… not really.

"'Ey."

Cold. Freezing, unmerciful cold.

"'Ey you, get up!"

Nellie stirred, raising her head off of, shockingly, Mr. Todd's midsection. He appeared to be sleeping still.

_Hang on, then…_

"You, this here's my flat, go find yer own."

Above her stood a stringy, dirty prostitute, glaring down venomously from under her hat.

Around her, was darkness. They'd slept well into the night, with no trouble at all. Her bag was still clutched tightly in her arms as she raised up, struggling to get to her feet.

"Listen, we need to rest here tonight, I'm afraid if I move him, he won't-" But Nellie's explanation was cut off.

"I don't care 'bout what state he's in this is mine and Lulu's alley- ye hear?" The woman raged, pointing a finger into Nellie's face threateningly. For some reason, she felt she'd see her before.

Nellie started. "Lulu?"

"Wot's it to you?"

Lulu. Lucy. Her street name, the one she took on after she left their home on Fleet Street. After Judge Turpin raped her.

"Lulu, you mean… the one from Fleet Street?" Just to be sure.

"Aye, that's her. You know her?"

Nellie shook herself. "No. No, I don't know her. Seen her around, that's all."

Oh… they needed to be gone. Now.

"You sure 'bout that, lass?"

"Lass?" Nellie raised her eyebrows.

"Well, I can tell by that skin of yours you ain't a day over forty, which makes you right younger 'n me," the prostitute explained, "So, yeah, _lass_."

Nellie grimaced.

"Fine then, we'll be on our way. Wouldn't want to get in Lucy's way," she said carelessly, attempting to pick Mr. Todd up, before she realized her mistake.

She pressed her lips together tight, hoping the other woman hadn't heard her.

"You-You know her name?"

Out, out- wasn't there _any_ way out of this?

She slipped her arms under his and pulled with all her strength to get him on his feet. He roused slightly, his head lolling to the side.

"There we go, Mr. T, let's get up…" She whispered gently and tried tugging again.

She got him to his feet, and he finally opened his eyes.

"Mms… Love-t, what…?" Was his muffled, unfinished question.

"'Ave you seen her? She never came back last night, and I can't find her anywhere," the woman was saying urgently behind them.

Nellie tried drowning the sound of her voice out.

"Come on, love, we've got to go," she said to Mr. Todd, draping his arm around her to give him support to walk.

They only made a few steps before the prostitute yelled, "Please! If you know where Lucy is, tell me!"

Mr. Todd skidded to a halt beside her, his face blanching, eyes going so wide, they almost bulged out of his head.

Nellie cringed as his eyes fell onto her, pinning her with an accusatory stare, before he used her help to turn around to face the woman the prostitute who had been a friend to Lucy Barker for nearly fourteen years.

Perhaps Nellie had not escaped death just yet.

-


	8. Beautiful Stranger, Haven't We Met?

All the Difference.

* * *

Beautiful Stranger, Haven't We Met?

* * *

_If I'm smart, then I'll run away. But I'm not, so I guess I'll stay.  
I looked into your eyes and my world came tumbling down.  
To know you, is to love you._

* * *

Fear. Pure, unabashed, white-hot fear spread through Nellie's fingertips and toes as fast as a wild fire, and every nerve between her head and her feet combusted. That was what it felt like at that moment under his eyes. His grip on her shoulder tightened so much so that she felt his nails digging into her flesh through both sleeves of her dresses. And she didn't scream or cry from the pain, as his fingers clawed even deeper into her. She didn't even wince. She was too scared. She never knew his nails were that long. Were they?

She didn't want to look and see for herself. Instead, she held his gaze until he looked back at the woman behind them, wringing her hands desperately. Even then she didn't take her eyes off his face. And when he looked back at her; she trembled, with eyes just as wide as his, yet sorrowful, embarrassed, more-sunken-than-normal eyes.

It just wasn't… fair.

But by the looks of it, he wasn't intending to hurt her. His face held no malice or even anger, only shock, empty shock. Maybe sickness too. Or pain from his arm. Nellie just didn't know. It was as if he wasn't even aware of anything.

His fingers were clenching of their own accord.

She was suddenly glad that he didn't have two hands. He might've been strangling her.

She could hear the name 'Lucy' resounding in his mind. And of course it would be; it was resounding in her brain as well. More tauntingly. More spitefully.

Where was Lucy? She was dead. They killed her, last night. Both of them. Nellie put the noose around her neck and Mr. Todd hung her. Then he did something with her body. She still didn't know what, but it didn't matter. They killed Lucy. Together, the both of them.

This woman, this prostitute, she was ruining everything. Nellie conceded, perhaps she and Mr. Todd weren't on the best of terms before, but they had to rely on each other at least. What choice did they have? She was a wreck and he was a cripple now. They were running away together. To where, neither knew. To what, neither knew. But to Nellie, all that mattered was with who.

It was almost…

She looked down, unable to keep calm under his penetrating eyes.

…Romantic.

She hadn't lied to him; not really. It wasn't as if he'd asked her if Lucy had any friends. She hadn't done anything wrong, so why did she feel so guilty? And why was he holding her so tightly?

The last thing she wanted was to make him angry. The very last thing.Bubbling, pooling in her stomach sickeningly…Mr. Todd looked back at the woman (she knew because she felt his head turn; she still kept her eyes down.) It wasn't often a woman was in love with a man who wanted to kill her.

"Please… please tell me where Lucy is… She's all I have, and I'm all she has…"

"We don't know a 'Lucy,' as you say, nor where she is," Mr. Todd said and turned, somehow managing to pull Nellie forward while still using her as support.

She could barely move, shocked to her core by his words, but soon snapped out when she remembered that he needed her to walk. But still, as she wrapped her arm back around him, her mind was racing. Why had he said that? Why hadn't he asked about Lucy? Why?

His hand finally lifted from her shoulder, and her flesh thanked him silently, but flinched when his fingers curled around her neck. Just changing his angle. That was all. His arm was tired.

She always got chills when he did that.

"Please! I know you know her! I can tell by that-that haunted look in yer eyes!"

This time, he did not turn around.

They kept walking while she looked up at him questioningly, nervously. He was nothing more than a volcano. All she could do was just carry him along, and wait for him to explode.

The sound of the woman shouting was fading as they walked, but there was no doubt she was still behind them, begging information of them. Nellie's head was spinning.

"What time do you suspect it is?" He asked, not long after they set off.

Mr. Todd would certainly be the death of her.

After she gaped at the side of his face for long seconds, she shook herself and looked up to the skies, seeing just a few twinkling stars at the top of the dark blue sky and the rest were still in hiding somewhere in the sky.

"Looks like night has just fallen. Does your neck hurt?" She asked probingly. Nellie had noticed he hadn't hardly moved it since she got him up.

"There's a knot in it," he explained in a scratchy, deep voice. His scowl was very set, probably thinking more unpleasant thoughts now. He would just never stop.

"Oh, just a knot? Here- can you stand now?"

He answered her with a gruff 'mm.'

She stopped them walking and moved back around him, feeling his neck with her fingertips.

"Here?" She asked.

"Yes," he said irritably.

Albert had often got knots in his neck and back and legs. Although, the reason for his knots was due to the fact that he was horribly fat. Either way, it was Nellie's job to get them out before they troubled him. It had always been a gruesome job then, but she didn't mind at all for Mr. Todd. On the contrary, she wanted to.

"All right then, I'll just put a little pressure here-" She rubbed his neck soothingly, hoping she was melting his anger as well. She could still just see that face, brow all furrowed, lips thin and set, and his eyes glittering black, even in the darkness of the night.

And at exactly the right moment…Mr. Todd howled.

She got it out.

"Ow, that-" He began raging at her but cut himself off abruptly. He felt his neck where the knot was with a deeply astonished look on his face. "That… is better."

She tried to suppress her grin of satisfaction, but it crept up to her lips anyway. Instead, she turned away from him to hide it.

He didn't thank her, but she didn't need his thanks verbally to know that he was grateful. That look on his face was satisfaction enough for her.

He pivoted his head a bit and then started walking again, this time with no help from Nellie. She hurried along after him.

For the longest time, they walked in silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, just a quiet silence. Nellie no longer knew where they were. She simply followed Mr. Todd's lead to wherever he was going. He knew the streets as well as she did. And if he were lost, it didn't really matter, as they didn't have a plan as to where they were going. The night slowly grew darker until all the stars were out and they hung low in the sky. Almost like fireflies. She was glad to see them, actually. They were beautiful, for one, and they just gave her some sense of ease.

"Who was she?" Mr. Todd asked suddenly, and the hope that had been welling inside Nellie (always a stupid thing for her to do; hope,) instantly deflated and she grimaced at the stars. She should have known that was what had been stewing in his mind the moment they walked away from her.

"I saw them together often. I assumed they were… friends. They probably made a living together or something of the sort," Nellie said thoughtfully, with no real thoughtfulness. She knew it to be true.

"Are you telling the truth?" He asked, his voice quiet but gruff. Nellie wasn't sure if he was actually asking that, if he really was doubting her, but she answered anyway.

"Yes, it's true."

He didn't respond. Had she expected him too?

Instead he stopped and gripped her left shoulder with his right hand, reminding her of the bruises he'd formed not an hour ago. Nellie winced in reflex, but didn't move. His eyes were back, those deadly serious, not-twinkling, dark and delicious eyes.

"I want your word, Mrs. Lovett, that you'll not lie to me anymore," he said in an even voice, not dangerous or threateningly, but almost like a plead.

Before she could answer he went on."If we are going to continue on together, we must be able to trust each other. Otherwise, we'll go our separate ways now. So. Do I have your word?"

As if she would risk losing him now.

"Yes," she said solemnly, "you have my word… Mr. Todd."

He seemed satisfied, gave her a courteous half-nod and then started walking again.

It was definitely out of his character, but she was rather glad. He could have left her so long ago. She hurried along after him.

"Mr. Todd, can I ask you a question?" She asked when she was at his side again, almost in retaliation.But he was a step ahead of her.

"Why didn't I tell her about- Lucy?" He asked, his voice stumbled as he spoke his wife's name. His dead wife's name. Nellie had to keep reminding herself that. She kept wanting to look behind her shoulder and find that Lucy was there. She'd had the habit ever since she could remember, like she was constantly being watched.

"If she suspected we had something to do with her death, all of our running would have been for nothing. She would have pointed the authorities right in our direction."

Well, his reasoning his reasoning wasn't as deep as she had suspected.

They kept walking.

* * *

Sweeney wasn't sure as he could handle much more information about Lucy. She was dead. She was dead.

Why did it matter so much that she was dead as of last night rather than fifteen years ago?

Because he had killed her. She was alive before.

Yet, according to Mrs. Lovett, she was already dead.

Why did it have to matter so much?

He was supposed to be soulless. Unfeeling, uncaring, unmerciful. But now his heart was sadder than it had ever been. And he was running away with the wench who lied to him about his wife.

Did that mean he did have a soul?

Sweeney quickly grabbed Mrs. Lovett and pulled her against the wall, silencing her with a look.

A carriage rolled by, a dark blue one. Her eyes finally understood and they watched as the officer trot on by with his horse. He checked the street before he led her out of the alley.

It wasn't long when they both froze when they heard the sound a whistle.

A train whistle.

He grabbed her hand and they ran in the direction of the train, praying they could jump onto it and escape London efficiently.

"Do you… think we can… make it?" Mrs. Lovett panted beside him.

"If we hurry," he panted back. He had not run that fast since-…Since he tore down the stairs, through Mrs. Lovett's shop, and down the stairs of the bake house when she screamed and he thought she was hurt. Or worse.

The whistle was getting louder, they were getting closer. He only half-remembered where the train tracks were. Mrs. Lovett was leading the way through the streets.

"Thank God you weren't… shot in the leg," Mrs. Lovett commented.

Sweeney almost, almost, chuckled.

It astounded him.

Finally, they came to the train as it flew by. They stood there, and their eyes watched as it whirred by them.

Catching his breath, he said, "We'll have to jump at the same time. It's going too fast to run along-side it."

He looked sideways at her and saw the fear etched plainly on her face."We have to go quickly and fully make it inside or the edges can slice into you," he said. He would have switched sides with her, but they couldn't hold hands otherwise.

She nodded, trying to brace herself. How could he read her so plainly now?

He looked past her to see an open cart. "We have to do it now," he said, a mite impatiently. They got as close to the train as they could.

"On my word," he called to her, wind rushing so loud all around them, sending both of their hairs into their faces.

"One," he shouted.

They crouched slightly, ready to spring into step.

"Two," he was watching the train, but he tightened his grip on her hand. Her other hand gripped his forearm tightly.So many feelings were bubbling inside him. Most prominently, fear.Here was their chance.

"Three!" They both jumped and he landed almost fully inside the train, and he sighed in relief.

Mrs. Lovett was not so lucky.

He heard her scream and saw she had only her midsection on the train, but it was slowly being pulled towards the sharp edges of the compartment door. Her legs were flailing as she attempted to kick herself up on all the way.

"Nellie!"

Had he shouted her actual name?

He got onto his knees and tried pulling her up, but her weight wasn't light enough for him to pull with just one arm. Had he had his other arm, he could have held her and jumped and they both would have been fine.

The gravity in the train was pulling her towards the edge, and away from him. If he let go she was done for. But with no way to pull her up, what was he to do. He could see out of the boxcar and saw they were coming to a tunnel. A dark, very narrow tunnel.

Fear re-gripped Sweeney's heart completely.

An idea struck and he saw it as their only option. He bent towards her, knowing their grip would slip a little. She screamed again and tried to hold tighter onto him as her body slammed into the edge.

"Put one of your arms around my neck!"

"I-I can't! I'll f-fall!" She wailed back at him.

"Trust me," he shouted gripped even tighter onto her wrist.

She bit her lip hard and let go, slipping further into the edge of the car. Mrs. Lovett winced but used all her strength to grab his neck and wrap her arm around it.

Bracing himself, Sweeney exhaled through his nostrils and then fell backwards, pulling Mrs. Lovett with him. He only saw her tear-stained, blotchy, surprised face for a tiny moment before his vision went completely dark and they were inside the tunnel.

He breathed another sigh of relief and didn't bother to move out of sheer exhaustion. Mrs. Lovett was still partially on top of him crying and thanking him at the same time, her arms wrapped around his neck.

He was thankful too. More than words could express. So he said nothing. But he let his good hand rest on the small of her back and around her while she sobbed in his neck and he breathed in the smell of her hair.

Oranges, flowers, and pie batter.

He didn't even remember falling asleep.

* * *

Sweeney's Dream is actually just the encounter that he had with Johanna on the night before they escaped.

* * *

Sweeney Todd climbed the stairs with more than a little difficulty. Not because the task was particularly taxing; he wasn't losing his breath or getting a stitch in his side or pains in his calves. Even after the night's… activities… he still felt perfectly healthy.

The climb was hard because in his shop was, potentially, his daughter.

The last time he saw her, she was just a baby.

Had that been her? There was no way to be sure. She, if it was Johanna, was wearing a hat. Did she have the yellow hair hiding under the cap? And the men's clothes she was wearing hadn't seemed to suit her, now that he looked back on it.

How could he face her? If it was her. If that had indeed been Johanna, she witnessed Turpin's murder, or at least the aftermath of it. The blood streaming down his face.

Oh Lord. He'd nearly killed her as well. His own daughter.

If it really was Johanna. If. If. He would be lucky if she listened to a word he said. He would be even luckier if she hadn't run out the door to police station the second he ran to Mrs. Lovett right before he…Sweeney stopped, having to grab either side of the rails, nearly losing his balance and tumbling down the stairs.

Mrs. Lovett… she saved Johanna.

Not intentionally, nor aware of what she stopped. He cast a glance backward towards her shop. Mrs. Lovett. She killed his wife but saved his daughter. For a moment he was grateful. He didn't know how he could live with himself if he had killed his daughter as well. But the gratitude passed to indifference.

That was just like her. Still… should he be grateful or not?

Later.

It might not have even been Johanna. Sweeney climbed the rest of the stairs and walked towards the door. A knot had built in his stomach. He couldn't untie it. He swallowed air, gulping down the unidentifiable feelings that were festering inside him. It would all be over soon. He just had to play the right part. No different than playing the kind, skillful barber of Fleet Street. No difference at all.

Johanna…

He turned the door handle and stepped through the shop.

The bells chimed, alerting the person, or Johanna, that he had returned to his domain. The candles had been extinguished. The only light in the room came from the street lamps outside, but they poured weakly through the open door and didn't light anything but the floor.

Sweeney slowly shut the door behind him and ventured a few steps into his shop. He couldn't see anyone, but he could sense someone. There was definitely someone in the room. He didn't know how he knew; he just did. It might be considered a talent.

Though the corners were dark, he let his eyes roll over them, straining to see anything, a glimpse of anything. But there was nothing.

Was he wrong…?

No. No, he was never wrong.

Out of the farthest corner to his right came a sound. A soft sigh, nervous and frightened. He snapped his head in that direction and then there was a clatter. Wood meeting wood. Silver spilling onto the floor. His razors. Without another thought, Sweeney clasped his hand over his holster, slipping out his own razor and keeping it safely in his hand.

What kind of game was she, or not, playing?

Soft footsteps… he heard them, but he couldn't tell which way they were going. He turned, unsure of where Johanna was going. Possibly.

He turned again and barely stifled a sharp gasp as he felt a razor, his razor, pressed into his throat.

He saw her at last. Her silhouette, at least. But somehow in the darkness, he saw her blue eyes, and wisps of blonde, wheat-colored hair under the hat.

He stared into her eyes, wishing he could say a million things, easily. Oh, he wished he could say all the things he wanted. Part of him even wanted to embrace her. The part of him he buried.

But he was not Benjamin Barker. He was Sweeney Todd. A man who knew Benjamin Barker many years ago. Both sent to the same prison because of the judge. Old friends, maybe, but not remotely the same person.

"I don't want to-"

"Shut up!" Johanna said fiercely, her trembling voice betraying her.

How for one second could he have mistaken her for a male?

Sweeney inhaled, glancing down at her pale hand holding the razor to his throat. He was almost tempted to smile, but he didn't want her thinking he was insane.

"I only wanted to offer an explan-"

"No! You just murdered the judge; that's one of the highest crimes you can commit," she explained.

He wanted to tell her that killing the judge was no crime. Not mutilating his body and exposing him to the world for what he was… that was a crime. It was no less than what the filthy rat deserved.

"And I would tell you why if you would get that razor away from my throat," he said evenly, remembering to take breaths through his nose. Her grip was not loose or lazy and if he so much as swallowed wrong, the razor's edge would tear into the skin of his throat.

"No," she said, but her voice was so small, "No, you have to be sent to jail."

His heart beat quickened. Something had to be done.

"Johanna," he said firmly and she started and took a step back.

Sweeney rubbed his throat where the razor had been, finally understanding how nerve-racking it was to be on the other end of his razor. It was satisfying to know.

Johanna looked up at him with wide eyes. "How-how did you know my name?"

"Because I named you. It was my mother's name and Lucy, your mother, had a great fondness for her. After my mother died and Lucy was pregnant with you, we decided to name you Johanna."

If only that's what he could have said.

He took one last look at her face and then went to his dressing table. In the top drawer, he pulled out matches and began the lighting the lamps in his shop.

"Benjamin Barker," he said as struck the match on the box. He lit a few of the lamps on his table and it game much light to the room. He turned to see Johanna, still clutching his razor tightly, staring back at him with a confused face.

"What?" She asked quietly.The fire on the tip of the match had grown and in the time he spent looking at her, the flame licked his fingers and he winced as he blew it out.

"Benjamin Barker. Though with Turpin as your… guardian… I imagine you've never heard that name before. Nor Lucy. Lucy Barker," he told her, taking out another match to finish lighting the lamps.

"Lucy…" Johanna said quietly. "I used to- sometimes hear Judge Turpin calling out her name when I was younger, while he slept. I never knew what it meant, or who she was…"Sweeney felt his gut turn in revulsion, but had to remind himself the judge was now dead. He couldn't corrupt the world anymore. He was gone. Gone. Gone.

With all the lamps lit, the room had a dim glow. Dim, but bright enough to fully see her face. Johanna was an almost an exact replica of her mother. The same hair, eyes, face… but there was something horribly dark about her. He imagined it was the same darkness that befell Lucy after the judge had his way with her.

There was a haunted look in her eyes.

"Lucy…" Sweeney said somewhat… fondly, "was your mother."

Johanna's eyes widened further, if that was possible.

"And Benjamin Barker was your father."

He crossed the room and put the matches away. He saw his box of razors on the floor, most of them spilled out from their rightful places. He bent down and started picking them up.

Johanna was silent while he did this. He couldn't possibly guess what was running through her mind. All those years, never knowing who her parents were. He didn't expect her to believe him. But when he looked back at her their were tears catching in her eyelids.

"Are… are you positive?" She asked.

"Very positive. Benjamin and I were both in prison together- false charges, though," he added at her look of horror, "Judge Turpin sent Benjamin away so that he could have your mother to himself. Unfortunately… I have learned that she took poison after the judge raped her and she died. So the judge took you, with no parents left instead of sending you to an orphanage or the work house. Very kind of him..."

Johanna was glaring at the floor. "He… He told me my parents died in an accident. He… that liar…"

Good. He wanted her angry.

"Benjamin died in prison, not long ago. But he made me swear to avenge him and you and your mother. That is why I have killed the judge," he explained.

Johanna gazed out the window, much like he did, and he felt a surge of pride."

I guess… I understand. While it was still horrible to see… I do understand."

Sweeney took an unsure step towards her.

"I need… I hope you will keep what you saw… private."

Johanna turned back to him with a small, reassuring smile. "Of course, Mr. Todd. I won't tell a soul."

After that, he gave her one of the pictures he carried with him, telling her that Benjamin Barker gave it to him before he died. She cried when she saw it, and held it to her heart. Sweeney assured her that her parents loved her more than their own lives.

Shortly after, Anthony arrived and he let his daughter leave with the young sailor. He watched them leave in their carriage until they were out of sight.

Sweeney sat back in his chair, careful to avoid the pedal. He leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. He was shocked to pull away and see tears in his palms.

Hastily, he wiped them on his trousers and went downstairs to find Mrs. Lovett.

* * *

Hello, Guten Abend, and Bonjour. So sorry about the long wait. I really do apologize. I've been struggling with some personal problems and it has really made writing hard. But I barreled through this chapter.

I hope everyone likes it. : )

You might notice I've added quotes and/or song lyrics to the beginning of chapters. What do you think?

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers, anonymous or not, and a big thanks to everyone who has simply taken the time to read this, even if they don't review.

I hope to have the next chapter up sooner. LOVE.


	9. All Used and Beaten Up

* * *

All the Difference.

All Used and Beaten Up.

_Watching fate as it flows down the path we have chose.  
You and me,  
We're in this together now._

* * *

"Three!"

They both jumped, hoping to make it fully into the train without slicing Mrs. Lovett into two separate parts.

Firmly, his feet planted onto the ground and he balanced himself with his free arm. Sighing in relief he turned to make sure that Mrs. Lovett was all right as well, and screamed in terror when he saw Mrs. Lovett.

"Nellie!"

Sweeney stared in horror, immobilized by fear, as half of Mrs. Lovett's body struggled to stand while she had no legs. The other half of her body from her waist down was gone; split in two and left behind where they jumped on at. He could see it somehow, the other half of her dress with her obnoxious socks an lace-up boots flailing and running after the train. He felt extremely nauseous.

And just as he was about to retch and get sick-

Sweeney gasped as he woke up with a start and found he was covered in sweat. His shirt was stuck to his chest and he felt his hair matted down on his head.

His eyes were blinded by an orange sun just rising and peeking out above some hills and trees in the distance so he groaned and let his head fall back, closing his eyes briefly before he remembered the dream that frightened him and why he jolted awake.

He lifted his head and saw Mrs. Lovett sleeping peacefully, one arm draped over his chest, the other curled around his arm and clutching on the fabric of his shirt covering his shoulder. He lifted his head further and was relieved to see her legs pressed against him as well, one of her ankles actually crossing over with his.

With a sigh, he let his head fall back and closed his eyes again.

All through that night, he had horrifying dreams of her death. Countless dreams, all ending with her end. The first dream he had was of Johanna, but after that, they were all of Mrs. Lovett, and her death. And it terrified had him.

He hadn't had an actual dream in over fifteen years.

Moreover, he hadn't had a restful sleep in over fifteen years, but whenever he could manage to calm his thoughts enough to close his eyes, he never had dreams.

Sweeney frowned.

And he would have liked to think on the rare occasion he would have had dreams, they would have been about Lucy. His beautiful wife, his pale-skinned, yellow-haired Lucy.

But that night he'd seen Mrs. Lovett sliced in half, decapitated, crushed, ran over by the train, and more gruesome deaths that were starting to make his stomach turn. Mrs. Lovett, clinging to life, to his arm, screaming, crying, speechless, and not dead.

And he, in his dreams, made every effort to save her.

Why did he want her alive so desperately?

He'd never slept so peacefully before either, despite waking up several times through the night. It was all very disturbing.

Mrs. Lovett was sleeping with him, or more accurately, on him, and he didn't even feel uncomfortable. He had had no human contact for so long, and the least of all people he should want to touch was Nellie Lovett.

But he supposed he just didn't have the heart to move her.

Or himself.

His mind was still buzzing with the images of his dreams. The way she died so gruesomely, the fear on her face, and most eerily how she was never truly dead when she should have been. If dreams meant he anything, he was beginning to think Eleanor Lovett was immortal. She didn't die in his dreams, and she didn't die when he tried to kill her.

Perhaps she was just naturally stubborn.

But what troubled him the most was the way he always shouted her name in his dreams; like he actually had done the previous night jumping onto the train. He was sure he did, but he still didn't know why. He had never thought of her as anything other than Mrs. Lovett, the landlady, the pie baker, the liar.

Never Nellie.

Why did everything have to change?

His head was throbbing.

There had to be a reason why he was dreaming of her all night. He never believed that everything happened for a reason, for; what good was it to send him away to prison for fifteen years and let the judge rape his wife and adopt his daughter? What was the reason for that?

Other than the fact that God hated him, there was none.

But these dreams- there had to be a reason there.

Sweeney inhaled and got his lungs filled with her smell again.

His eyes snapped open.

That was it.

If she wasn't so close to him, rubbing off on him, he wouldn't be dreaming of her. It was that scent of hers. It was making him delusional about her.

Well, he felt better knowing that. It really was a load off of his mind. He was so bloody tired.

Looking down at his other arm, the one not on Mrs. Lovett's waist, and he instinctively tried moving it. His hope was if he tried to make it move hard and often enough, it simply would.

But no matter how much he glared down at the useless excuse for an appendage, it did not move, not of it's own accord. He laid there for awhile, watching it rock and be cajoled by the trains' ragged movements.

Mrs. Lovett's arm moved and her elbow was pressing lightly just atop his groin.

Sweeney closed his eyes and started practicing all the self control he had.

He could just shove her off of the train.

* * *

Nellie breathed in hair right when she woke up and started coughing and sputtering uncontrollably. At first, she thought it was her own and swatted it out of her mouth.

But Mr. Todd growled and her eyes snapped open.

There wasn't much to take in. Other than the fact that her head was on his shoulder, he was cupping his cheekbone and glaring at her and the train was slowing down.

And then she realized more than just her head was on more than just his shoulder. Her left knee was pressing into the inside of his right thigh. Her palm was clenching the material of his vest over his impossibly hard stomach. And her elbow was-

Nellie rolled away from him in an instant, an embarrassed blush taking over her white cheeks and propped herself up on her hands.

"Mr. T, forgive me, I had no idea-"

But he was not interested in hearing her apology, not this time. He was sitting up and stopped rubbing his cheek.

For a moment, she wondered what had caught his interest. Then she remembered that the train was slowing down when it came to a jolting stop. She lost her balance and collided with the ground.

Mr. Todd, however, was standing up and walking towards the open door of their boxcar.

Nellie got up and wiped the dust off her impossibly-dirty-anyway dress. It did nothing, but it was a force of habit, really. From years of working with flour.

She watched him peer out cautiously from the boxcar and almost instantly duck back inside.

"Mr. Todd?" She asked in a hushed whisper.

He was walking over to her, she thought, but instead he went to the other side of the train and started opening the sliding door to the other side of their boxcar.

"Someone is coming," he explained. "We have to run or they'll turn us in to the authorities. Keep watch, but don't let yourself be seen."

Nellie hurried to the spot where he had peered out and hesitantly curled her fingers around the edge of the train and peeked out.

A man was checking all the parts of the train, and was quickly making his way towards where Nellie and Mr. Todd were hiding.

"Hurry, Mr. T, he's coming closer," Nellie urged quietly.

He didn't answer her. He was using what looked like all of his strength trying to pry the door open. By the look of rust on the door jam, no one had opened it in a long while.

And with Mr. Todd only using one arm, it was taking much longer than it would have if had had the strength of both of his arms.

Nellie had to help him.

Checking on the conductor one last time, and seeing in a panic that was merely five cars away, Nellie ran over to Mr. Todd and her hands joined his on the door jam.

"What are you-"

"We don't have time- let me help you," Nellie persuaded and they both pulled hard down.

The door budged; barely.

"I can handle this, keep watch," Mr. Todd growled, managing to keep his voice quiet yet still dangerous.

"The conductor is probably only a yard away from us, if he finds us, he finds us, but if we both open the door we'll at least have time to run," Nellie reasoned and tugged by herself.

Mr. Todd sighed and grabbed the handle again.

"All right then, on three pull as hard as you can. One, two three!"

They pulled and grunted and panted until the handle moved freely. Frantically, they opened the door and grabbed hands before they prepared to jump off the train. Nellie's stomach was in knots. They were much higher up then she realized.

"Oi! What are you doing on my train?"

They looked back as the conductor came into view. He was standing peering over the bottom of the cart, struggling to pull himself up into the actual compartment.

Without another thought of worry or concern, they jumped off the train. Nellie kept her dress down while they flew through the air towards the ground. But the ground just wasn't coming fast enough. Just as she was about to scream, they landed on the hard ground and the impact caused them both to lose their balance and fall.

Nellie could swear she smelt blood somewhere, but tried to ignore it as Mr. Todd has his arms around her and was helping her up. Once both their feet were firmly on the ground, Nellie and Mr. Todd took off in a dead sprint into thick fields of wheat.

"Reckless fools!"

The conductor was still yelling at them, but Nellie was relieved to see that he was not following them. Thank God conductors had schedules to keep. Or perhaps he just didn't fancy making that dangerous, potentially life-threatening risk of jumping off like they had.

Maybe they were reckless, but when one had been through what they had been through, a little recklessness was nothing that would harm them.

When the train was relatively smaller than her finger in the distance, they finally stopped running. The train had started moving again and was continuing it's journey to somewhere.

Somewhere… speaking of…

"Any idea where we are?" Nellie asked breathlessly, while easing onto the ground, ignoring the tall wheat that stretched over her head. There was a horrible pain in her side.

"None," Mr. Todd said, looking at every horizon of the sky.

Nellie clutched her hand on her side, putting pressure where it was throbbing in pain.

"But I know it's around midday. The sun is high," he continued, then trailed off.

"Then I suppose we aren't in London…" Nellie said, a little bitingly. When would this pain go away?

She was having trouble. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see him fidgeting with his arm, his hair, his clothes, but the sharp, stinging, tingling pain was getting stronger.

"Mr. T, I…" She tried to tell him what was happening, but her throat seemed to close up, right mid-sentence and blackness was enveloping her vision. She blinked rapidly.

It seemed to be happening a lot lately.

Red. She looked at her hand and there was blood there, dark and thick.

Nellie sighed as she felt herself collapse. The sensation of losing consciousness was beginning to feel like home.

* * *

"Mrs. Lovett?" Sweeney said, looking down at her. She had just fainted. Why?

He bent down and touched her face. Warm, but only from the running. Her cheeks were rosy, as always, not pale and sickly. He decided that she wasn't sick or exhausted. He sighed irritatingly.

"Well, what is it then?" He asked impatiently, looking over her.

It was then he noticed the red beginning to soak the wheat around her side and he remembered that she was injured from yesterday.

He moved her arm away and tried to inspect the gash that she had received trying to jump on the train. But it was impossible to see through her layers of clothing.

Sweeney growled in annoyance and stood to his feet. He started pacing, deliberating on what to do. The only way to treat her injury was to get under her bodice. Of course, he _could_, but he didn't _want_ to.

He would have to take off that ridiculous dress she attempted to cover the wears and tears of her beautiful dress underneath and then take off her corset. What she had on under that, he didn't know, and didn't want to know.

Still undecided, he looked back down at her and saw the pool of blood had grown just a bit. It would soon grow more.

They were running low on options.

He sighed heavily and dropped back to his knees, pulling the bag over to him and taking out the items he would need. Once the bottle to stop bleeding and heal the cut was out, he pulled out the cloth bandage and set it aside.

Then he looked back at her, then looked around.

No one was here. No one would see them here. The outer dress was pointless. He reached into his holster and pulled out his razor. With only one hand, it would take forever to undress her. Instead, he pulled the razor through the fabric, avoiding her skin carefully, until the dress came open. He pulled just her right arm out of the sleeve, and left the rest for the moment.

How could he do this? He groaned, wishing he could just take her to a doctor. But there was no way of telling where the closest doctor was, let alone where they were.

Sweeney looked back to her face. She looked peaceful this way. Like she was only sleeping. She looked the way she did last night. And his heart softened.

He had to do this…or she could potentially die.

Putting his razor away, knowing he couldn't ruin the dress she had on underneath, he carefully rolled her onto her side, just enough so he could undo her corset. He pulled the strings and loosened them carefully, dreading the part that was going to come next.

Once he had full access, he started pulling the puffs down that were flattering her shoulders and tried not to look too closely at the planes of her back and shoulders. Pulling her wrists from the cuffs was the most difficult part with only one hand tugging on the sleeve. At one point, Sweeney had to bite on her wrist cuff and lace his fingers with hers to pull her arm out.

He let her arm fall to the ground and sighed in agitation. He wanted to keep going desperately, increasingly since Mrs. Lovett fainted on him. Again.

Anything to save him from seeing her chest.

To stall, he turned and then began digging through the bag for the anti-infection solution, a large bandage and tape. But if he stalled much longer, it looked as if she would die. She was paler than he'd ever seen her and her lips becoming blue-tinged.

Sweeney pulled her other sleeve off with ease and managed to pull her dress down to her waist while she still laid on her stomach. After quickly wiping a few beads of sweat from his brow, he hugged her form to his and carefully rotated her until her back was nearly flat against the ground.

Mrs. Lovett's neck was supported by Sweeney's hand artfully, balancing the weight perfectly so her head would not be uncomfortable.

Breath caught. He couldn't breathe. His body suddenly felt alive.

He shook his head. This was inappropriate and completely out of line. He was married. Was… He was a widower.

No. _No._ It didn't matter. Lucy, he could never forget Lucy. She was his love. His only love. He swore to her he would never be with anyone else when they were both merely thirteen. It was juvenile, but Benjamin had been naïve.

His mind was racing so fast he kept forgetting what was happening. His world was falling to pieces.

He grabbed the solution and poured it into her wound. It bubbled gruesomely, which meant that it was working. With any luck, that would be all she needed. He rinsed the gash and poured more solution on it to make sure it was completely clean.

Again, he rinsed it. The bleeding stopped for the most part, but she would have a nasty scar.

He looked at her again. Some color had returned to her cheeks, and her lips were becoming pink again. Despite that, she was still completely unconscious. He forced his eyes past her breasts and looked closely at the cut.

Bandage. He found it without even moving his eyes and leaned back over her. He placed the bandage over her wound just right and taped all corners down securely.

Done. He was done. Now all he had to do was redress her.

This torture was almost over.

He struggled and managed to get both arms into the sleeves. All he had to do was pull the sleeves up and tie her corset back up. He grabbed the puffy shoulders of the dress and started pulling up.

No! It happened. He didn't know how, or why, he had tried so hard to prevent it. Before he could look away, his eyes slipped just a bit lower than her face. Then lower. And still lower, but it happened so quickly he barely had time to register anything. Sucking in much needed air, Sweeney finished redressing her.

He might have tied her corset too tight.

* * *

No, I did not abandon this story. I'm 6 months pregnant now. So I've been going through a lot of stuff over here and writing has not been easy. But I pushed myself hard to keep the story going because I have so many ideas just stewing.

Anyway, I hope this chapter doesn't suck too much. : / let me know what you thought, no matter how terrible.

I'm working on chapter 10, and it may come as a surprise to many of you. (: D)


	10. Is It Safe to Dance?

All the Difference.

-

Is it Safe to Dance?

-

"We can dance if we want to,  
We can leave your friends behind.  
'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance  
Well they're no friends of mine."

-

"Help, I'm alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer,  
Hard to be soft, tough to be tender.  
Come take my pulse, the pace is on a runaway train.  
Help, I'm alive, my heart keeps …  
Beating like a hammer,  
Beating like a hammer"

-

"Safe" was a word Anthony liked to use a lot. As well as "happy," "free," and "hope." Even when she laid in bed, her mind was still buzzing with the image of Anthony, talking animatedly about how great things were going to be, how he was just going to get that job, he knew it, and how thing were going to look up soon. He was so sure of himself and his plans and his future, while Johanna wasn't sure of anything.

She did her best to smile and agree with him, nod enthusiastically and comfort him when he didn't get the jobs he wanted. But as much as Johanna wanted to rejoice with him, she just didn't have the heart. Actually, with the way she'd been acting lately, she was starting to think she didn't have any heart at all.

She _was_ glad that she was finally rescued from the watchful eye and firm hand of Judge Turpin. Honestly, it was such a burden lifted off of her shoulders. The man was nothing short of a tyrant, locking her up in her room but for meals and an occasional walk in Hide Park in spring. All of his servants did her shopping and ran her errands. Getting out of Turpin's house was the best thing that ever could have happened to her.

But there were certain things that she just couldn't let go of. Things that clung and clawed onto her and made gooseflesh erupt all over her skin even while Anthony's arms were wrapped around and protecting her.

The nightmares. Most nights she avoided sleep so she wouldn't have to face her disturbed subconscious. She'd been having the nightmares ever since she was a little girl. Every night, the same kinds of dreams. Always the horrible, unbearable, and unfair dreams of her parents. What they were like, what they looked like, their names, and even the kinds of things they did (and would have done) together. And incidentally, she dreamt about what they died like.

Turpin told her that her parents died by a terrible accident, leaving her with no surviving relatives. Of course, that made Johanna always wonder how they did die. What kind of accident? Could it have prevented? Was she there when it happened?

Now she didn't have to wonder, though, how they died. She knew.

Mr. Todd saw to that.

Yet even though she knew the truth, the horrible yet confirmable truth, the dreams of her father and mother came at night while she slept, entering her mind while she wasn't even aware of them. And only to die. When she was younger, she once had the same dream for a month straight about her family going out to a park and having a picnic on a sunny summer day. But then Turpin would run up to them demanding that her parents give Johanna back to him before turning into a wolf and ripping her mother and father apart limb by limb.

Just awful things.

And Johanna would never be able to forget the nightmares about Judge Turpin. She wasn't blind. She could tell from the time she was ten that he wanted her. Of course, then she hadn't known that the strange glitter in Turpin's eye had been lust, not delight.

The mere memory of him made her stomach turn.

To think that they had once been close, like a father and a daughter.

Johanna rolled over, feeling the familiar wave of nausea roll violently in her stomach.

She had always had one fear: that Turpin was finally going to give in to his carnal desires. He was a judiciary man, and highly respected. Johanna had always taken comfort in that fact. But there were some times when she was down-right petrified that he would slip up. Give in. Get lost.

And her nightmares showed her just how awful things could have gone for her.

Johanna was grateful to Mr. Todd. Immensely. Because even though Anthony sprung her from the Bedlam Asylum, it was Mr. Todd's idea. He had cooked the whole thing up; Anthony told her so, and yet he still tried to take all the credit.

She owed more to Mr. Todd than just her life. She owed him her _memories._

Johanna turned restlessly in her and Anthony's bed, and faced the window.

They were living in a small shack in Ireland. Anthony had arranged everything, using the money he had saved over the years to rent this tiny, dirty shelter until he made more money to afford a real house. He had taken a job as a blacksmith's apprentice, and the money was coming in much more slowly than they both would have liked.

Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do. With guns being made and purchased, there wasn't much need for blacksmith's nowadays. And Anthony was a sailor. He had strength in his back but his arms weren't made for blacksmithing. He had a lot to learn.

Safe…

The word echoed in her mind. How could they be safe? The ghosts were still all around her. Turpin's ghost, spying on her in the night. Her father's ghost, trapped in prison. Her mother's ghost, reaching out to her and holding her like in the picture Mr. Todd gave her.

Impulsively, she sat up and looked back at Anthony, making sure he was still sleeping. She then reached into the drawer that was beside her bed and opened it to pull out the picture.

She ran her fingers over her mother's beautiful face, marveling at their similarities. Johanna would have given anything to know her. Just to talk to her for an hour would have been the most wonderful blessing she could ever have imagined.

The closest thing Johanna had had to a mother was one of the maids that worked in Turpin's house. Her name was Marion and she cooked all of Johanna's meals and bought all of Johanna's dresses. She brushed her hair and bathed her.

Marion had been the only one who talked to Johanna, aside from Turpin. Of course, her conversations with Turpin were never enjoyable and never changed topics from the government, the courthouse, and his most recent trial. All of them were guilty. And all of them ended up dead. The very few exceptions being close, personal friends and people who Turpin said were "truly innocent, on my honour."

The head maid at least took proper care of her as a child; helping her with her studies, teaching her to sew, putting extra honey in her tea, tying her favorite pink bow in her hair, and making sure her sheets were always warm on those cold and rainy London nights. The same things her mother would have done for her, and more.

Lucy... Mr. Todd said her name was. Lucy Barker…

But she was dead. Her father was dead. She would never know either of them.

Johanna laid back down, still holding the picture tightly as she stared at the faces in the dark. A lone tear rolled down her cheek and soaked into the dirty pillow case.

Anthony rolled towards her and put his arm around her waist in his sleep.

She still had so many questions she had.

Running her finger over her mother's face one last time, she put the picture back in the drawer and closed it.

But there was only one person who could answer them.

Closing her eyes for the first time that night, Johanna made her decision firmly and vowed that some day, she didn't know when, she was going to find Sweeney Todd again and get more answers. Her mind was racing, her heart was racing, with excitement and fear, and pure adrenaline.

She had to know everything.

_Everything._

-

"For the last time," Mr. Todd growled in annoyance, "I apologize, but I had no other choice!"

The unfortunate pair had been bickering for the last thirty minutes incessantly. It was hot out and they were irritable, in pain, and starting to get under each other's skin.

"Well, what am I supposed to do now?" Mrs. Lovett asked, her voice high and desperate. Shrill. Her hands were spread in the air helplessly, asking him silently what to do.

Mr. Todd rolled his eyes over her dress, all used and beaten up, like them and covered in dried blood and holes. He admitted silently, the dress itself looked suspicious. It would raise attention anywhere, which was exactly what they didn't need.

Mrs. Lovett was still waiting for an answer.

He walked on past her, rolling his eyes. He probably saved her life (again) and all he received in return was verbal abuse.

"Eh? You haven't answered me, Mr. Todd," she pointed out redundantly.

He sighed, scanning the horizon hoping to see a small town, city, anything. All he could he see were empty fields of tall wheat.

"Have you tried turning it inside out?" He asked off-handedly.

Mrs. Lovett let out a shrill, humorless laugh. When he looked back, she was clutching her side in laugher, and he wondered if she had finally snapped. It was about time.

She carried off laughing ranting and raving behind him about her bloody dress and how it was already ruined and how she couldn't believe he had the nerve to actually cut off her-

Mr. Todd had had enough. He whipped around abruptly and Mrs. Lovett was only able to stop a collision when the tips of their boots collided.

"If you're quite finished, pet, I wish to be out of this field by sunset," he quietly snarled, closing his palm around the back of her neck. That familiar glistening of fear was glossing her dark eyes over. "I've apologized for ruining that other piece of _cloth_," he sneered in anger, and his anger seemed to spark her own as her eyes hardened back to their familiar sparkle.

Sparkle?

"And believe me when I say I took no joy what-so-ever in having to treat your wounds… there," he said, his eyes darting to her abdomen for a brief second. "But I should think that after saving you from infection and possibly death, you would show a bit more gratitude, love."

He could feel her bumpy flesh on the back of her neck and realized just how hard he was digging his nails in. As he was about to let go, Mrs. Lovett's own hand removed his. She didn't smack it away, like she typically would have done, and when he looked at her face closer, he saw… regret?

She hadn't let go of his hand yet. He looked down at their palms clasped together rather than her face. On one hand, their was an impossible warmth emitting from her fingertips. And the more he focused on this, the more it seemed to burn. On the other hand, he felt disgust. As if he would vomit.

"You're… You're right, Mr. T, I'm sorry…" She apologized.

The lace of her glove was scratchy against his hand and he looked back at her face.

"Thank you."

It was sincere. He could see that in her eyes. If he knew anything about Nellie Lovett, it was that she was a proud woman, and not one to apologize or thank others easily. He remembered that from many years ago, even before he was sent away to prison. Lucy and Nellie did not always agree and the house could get quite sour.

He pulled his hand from hers and turned around. What felt like hot sparks were shooting up his arm from his fingers and palms and he couldn't bare to look at her any longer. He felt sick, not physically but mentally. Lucy's face was clouding his vision, almost in wrath or fury.

But that was impossible. Lucy was dead and that meant she was gone. Forever. After all, Sweeney had no faith in a God, nor evidence that suggested there could be; not for him anyway. If there was… Lucy…

"What is it?"

He heard her but he pretended not to. He knew what was happening and he didn't like it. Ignore her. She's not there. Not if he didn't want her to be.

"Mr.-"

"Shut that mouth," he growled, still not looking at her, still storming ahead with determination while trying to shake the sensations from his arm.

For once, she listened. A rare treat for him and he was delighted for awhile, but he could feel her silent anger emitting from her body in heat waves. It didn't help anything, but at least he had time to think.

-

The awe-inspiring gall of that man.

She was only keeping quiet because she was already in pain and she didn't have the energy to fight with him. The last thing she wanted was to be right in the middle of an argument and faint again, risking having Sweeney Todd save her again. And consequently she was beginning to think Sweeney saving her was more dangerous than him trying to kill her.

Nellie absent-mindedly picked at her hair, removing bits of grass while she re-curled it with her finger. It was difficult to pin it all back to the way it was before but after they walked for at least a couple of hours, she felt much better about her head (though she couldn't see it.)

What was wrong with him before? Did he still find her that repulsive? Nellie glanced longingly at the back of Sweeney's head.

Perhaps it was only her imagination… the moments they had. She thought, she could have sworn that Mr. Todd was getting feelings for her. He watched her sleep, that night on the train, and kept smelling her hair with deep breaths. He held her close and for longer than necessary most of the time, so why did he act that way now?

Nellie sighed quietly so he wouldn't hear her. She deliberated silently on whether or not he was just having 'urges,' but she ruled that out. Mr. Todd was completely in control of himself. The feelings that he showed must have been true because… because…

Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, Nellie yawned deeply. That light-headed feeling was coming back again.

By now, the sky was transforming from blue to orange and it was starting to get dark. Against most of her better judgment, she decided to risk speaking.

"Where are we?" She asked aloud, though not necessarily to him in particular.

"Don't know."

Better than nothing.

Nellie hesitated to answer another question. "We've been walking for awhile…"

She trailed off and peered around the side of him to try and get a glimpse of his expression, but she couldn't see anything but his cheekbones.

Wait… wait…

Abruptly, he stopped.

"I'm tired."

He dropped their bag and turned to face her for the first time in hours.

There was a more definite softness in his face, in his features. His eyes were slightly glazed with fatigue, but the fire was no longer there, the fire that was born in the bake house. His lips were relaxed, not terse, though very chapped from the wind. His face was noticeably glowing in the dark orange light.

"Oh…" She replied, a little more than shocked.

"We're still not near a town, we'll have to survive here for the night," he told her, and started opening the bag. "It's already getting cold so just do what I tell you and it will make it easier for both of us."

How could she appose him?

Sweeney was laying the thick wool blanket on the flattest surface of the field. He moved the bag to one side and then directed her onto the blanket.

"Lie down," he said softly.

Unsure of where he wanted her to go, she sat and slowly eased herself onto her elbows. He soon joined her and started folding the blanket around them.

"On your side."

That velvet in his voice was rich, but she deduced it to a need of sleep.

Nellie rolled onto her side facing away from him and she gasped and nearly shivered when she felt him mold himself to her.

"For warmth," he murmured and wrapped the last part of the blanket around them.

Nellie nodded in understanding but his words were empty. She could barely register a sound with Mr. Todd's entire body against hers.

All she could do was close her eyes and pray to make it through the night.

They drifted in and out of consciousness as it grew dark. The crickets were loud but were lulling them to sleep. Just when Nellie thought she could rest, Sweeney's arm snaked around her waist and his nose burrowed into the nape of her neck. Gooseflesh erupted all over her arms and back and chest. She was shivering but nearly sweating.

He was dead asleep already, getting ever closer, and Nellie just laid there trying to stop her heart from beating like a hammer.

-

Hello everyone! I do apologize for how long this has taken me. My little boy is keeping me busy. And I know it isn't the best or longest chapter, and I'm sure there are tons of mistakes, but I'll come back and edit later. Enjoy what's here and KNOW that more is on the way!


	11. Fools Linger

All the Difference.

* * *

Fools Linger.

* * *

"You know I'm such a fool for you,  
You got me wrapped around your finger.  
Do you have to let it linger?"

"I'm so tired of being alone  
But will my lonely heart  
Play the part of the fool again?"

* * *

That morning, Sweeney woke with the sun. He detangled himself from Mrs. Lovett and walked over to sit on a fallen log. He tried moving his fingers around, but they wouldn't budge. Grumbling, he put the sling back on his arm.

He looked around. Nothing but fields. Some trees scattered the field, different kinds. The sky was just beginning to turn light. He could see only a few twinkling stars fading into the lavender sky. Who knew where they were?

It was a good sign no one discovered them in the night. They either weren't being followed or if they were, they were far ahead and at the advantage.

With any luck, they were near a port, or somewhere they could find a boat. Sweeney wanted nothing more than to get out of England. It was a cursed place, of that he had no doubts. A terrible place full of pitiful people and atrocious-

"Mr. Todd? Where are you?" Mrs. Lovett's voice was panicked and Sweeney turned to see her spinning around, searching for him. The thought crossed his mind that she was completely helpless without him. He entertained that thought for only about two seconds before her wildfire eyes found him and were instantly flooded with relief. She breathed a soft, "Oh…" And there was a definitely a tint of blush in her cheeks before she turned towards the sky.

"Can't nearly be six by now, can it?" She asked, her voice now light and airy as the day he met her again.

Sweeney felt his lips tugging as he answered, "No, not yet, I'd wager."

She looked back at him, composed, and then frowned. "Why are you smiling like that?"

Smiling? He quickly frowned, much deeper than Mrs. Lovett's curious one, and stood up. "I was just thinking…" He trailed off, knowing she would take any bait he dropped.

"About what?" Her eyes seemed to twinkle, just a bit. The sun started to creep up over the distant hills and it lit up her curls in the strangest way. Like fire.

Fire… the thought of it instantly brought him back to not too long ago. The bake house, Mrs. Lovett's face shadowed and her hair flashing each time she hit the right angle. But feelings of hatred did not stir. Something deeper. Raw.

"About what?" She repeated and he noticed she was a few paces closer.

His head cleared and he stared into her eyes heavily. What was he thinking? What had he been planning to do and why had it escaped him? Was it déjà vu- in reverse? Shaking himself mentally, he made his face stone once more.

"I'm trying to figure out where we could possibly be. The train must have taken us close to a port. But which one would we be closest to? Which edge of England are we on?"

He sat back down on the log and faced away from her. The tension he felt between them dissipated and for that he was glad.

"Oh. Hard to say, I s'pose…"

"Indeed," he grumbled.

Bloody wonder…

Sighing, he searched the horizon. Perhaps if he found the north star… but all the stars had vanished for the day. Why hadn't he thought of that sooner? Well, there was no point sitting there wasting time. They were creating a window to be caught just sitting here like this.

He never thought he would have cared, once he had all of his revenge, but he strongly did not take to the idea of being sent to prison again, or even being hanged. There was still a small purpose in the bottom of him somewhere and he had no idea what it was or what it could be.

But it kept him alive.

He got up again, and grabbed their bag. He dug out a simple, dark green dress, no corset, no fancy bows or ties and held it out to her. "You should still get out of that dress."

She took it, albeit reluctantly, and said, "Turn around."

"No." He walked past her and started attempting to re-fold the blanket with only one arm and one set of fingers.

"Mr. Todd! That's awfully rude," she announced indignantly.

He sighed, frustration rising at an alarming speed. "If you are so shy go behind that stump. I would like to head off again, no matter where we are."

She didn't say anything for a few moments, then he heard her footsteps. He turned just enough to see her disappear behind the fairly large tree. He shook his head, but kept attending to the matters at hand.

Nellie stripped off the dress and considered simply leaving it on the ground.

But after she rethought that, if they were being followed, it would be much easier for the police bloodhounds to catch their trail. Instead, she stuffed it to the bottom of the bag they brought along and surveyed the plain, non-descript dress that he had chosen.

Pulling the dress over her head, and no doubt messing her hair even more, she yanked it down and saw it was quite a bit larger than her others. Well, they hadn't been eating all that much, either, constantly on the run. Or at all…

Her stomach growled as if she had just reminded herself of that fact. She sighed and prayed they would be able to have a normal life again soon. This was wearing on her, and she had no doubt it would be taxing on Mr. Todd too.

She picked up the bag and slung it over her shoulder so he would not carry it and strain himself further. True, she was recovering as well, but he had only half his strength. It would do neither of them good if he wore himself out.

Walking back over to him, she saw him looking all around, as if deciding which way to go. She would trust his judgment. What choice did she have?

Without asking, she took the blanket from him and shoved that into the bag as well. A dizziness swirled in her head, and she wished she could make something to eat. But that required too much. Why had she only brought ingredients?

"Mr. Todd, we should really find some nourishment soon," she informed him, and he only grunted in response.

They set off again.

Mrs. Lovett realized the more she thought about food and eating, the more hungry she felt. She tried desperately not to think of food, but how could she? Suddenly, she was ravenous.

And how was he not hungry? He acted as if he never needed any of the essentials in life. Sleep, food, comfort… How did he survive?

Well, for the better part of fifteen years, he thrived on the thought of revenge, it kept his blood pumping through his heart. So what would he have left now?

She resolved to take her mind off of food, but it was terribly difficult in her own head. Her thoughts revolved around hunger, meat pies, murder, Toby… Mr. Todd, oh so hungry, though…

She elected instead to converse with him, hoping she wouldn't grate on his nerves too much.

"Where do you think we'll end up?" She asked curiously, not caring much what the answer was. Anywhere was better than the middle of nowhere or London.

"Can't say," he replied, still keeping a fast pace.

She struggled to keep up.

Drawing in a breath and pushing that dizzy feeling out of her head she said, "As long as we can find a place, maybe rent it out until we can make enough to buy a house, I don't care where it is. But how are we going to get away from England?"

She stared at the back of his head, crazy, black hair going every which way. Why did she still find him so handsome?

_Maybe I'm just that sick…_

"I imagine we'll have to find a boat, Mrs. Lovett," he said, a slight edge in his voice. Still, the way his words still caressed her name gave her goose flesh.

She wished she had the energy to be beside him, to look into his haunted face, but she was barely keeping up as it was. A sharp pain shot down her body and a wave of nausea tried to overcome her. She squashed it all down, she didn't want to become a burden again…

"Mr. Todd," she breathed, clutching her wounded side, "could we take a short break?"

He stopped and turned to face her, his dark eyes flashing in annoyance. But when they met hers she saw them soften slightly. Or maybe she imagined it.

"All right," he conceded and started leading her over to the closest tree.

She caught up to him, as she had fallen a few paces behind, and then hunched over slightly. When had she become so weak?

"I'm sorry…" she offered, catching her breath. But it was too much and she dropped to her knees with a wince. Without energy, food, and time to heal, this would be a long trip.

He took her by surprise by kneeling in front of her and taking her hand, the one still pressed onto her side. When he drew it away from her, her eyes widened at the sight of blood. Not again…

With a slight sigh, and while still holding her wrist in his strong fingers, he contemplated what to do. She had bled trough her bandages.

He took the bag from her shoulders and searched in the compartment that had all of the medical supplies. He would need to change them and clean her wound again. "Lay down."

She started to protest, but he gave her one look, and she shut her mouth quick. He wanted to get it over with and it wouldn't do anything to argue. This kind of wound could kill her if not treated properly.

He pushed her shoulder to the ground she shrugged out of the sleeve, surprised that she actually could. Her shoulders were normally too broad for her dresses and she would have had to remove the top half completely. She was losing weight too… But she had to be mindful of her breast, careful it wasn't exposed. She placed her arm appropriately.

He peeled the dirty bandage off and almost gasped at her wound. It looked worse than the day before. He grabbed the disinfectant and dabbed it onto a cloth. With soft, careful strokes he started cleansing it.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Todd…" she said softly.

He quirked an eyebrow at the side of her head and asked, "For what?"

She turned her head just so she could see him examining him from the corner of her eye. Her curls hid part of her face and he had to admit it was a becoming angle for her. "For… for everything," she offered, and her lids fluttered a little, not really knowing why she apologizing in the first place. If it were him, she would be tending to his wounds, no questions asked, and no tolerance for arguments.

"I don't think you purposefully got smashed in a train door," he said, starting to tape the new bandage to her side. His finger grazed the side of breast and he saw chills form all around her. It was rather fascinating, but instead of adventuring further, he started slipping her back into her dress.

She turned her head back to face the ground. "No, can't say I did…"

Sweeney felt his lips quirk up in what could only have been the start of a smile. It felt strange and foreign. He quickly got rid of it though, and then helped her back into her dress.

"Thank you," she managed to get out, for though she felt better, she knew that she would be too weak to get up again.

Instead she closed her eyes.

He stood up and looked down at her. She obviously needed time to recover. If only he had both arms, he would carry her, but he did not have the strength with only one. She needed rest, and food, and a bit of time to heal.

"I am going to search around," he told her, and at slight look of panic, he added, "Not far, I want to see if I can find us a shelter or some food. I won't go far."

This seemed to ease her a bit and she nodded in understanding. He grabbed the bag again and moved to her head. "Lift up."

She raised her head and he pushed the bag under her to give her a pillow.

"I won't be gone more than an hour. Rest." He told her and her eyes obediently shut. He lingered for only a moment before he set off.

The further he traveled, the more he kept looking back to make sure he remembered how to return to her. The thought of leaving her there, to be taken or die, it was unsettling in his stomach. He needed to find food for them, at the very least. Shelter would a be much bigger stretch. But the fields went on and on, never finding any berry bushes or fruit trees, just empty, dragging fields.

Sweeney halted, for he saw something in the distance. He couldn't tell that it was, but it was a fairly large object in the middle of the field. He cautiously ventured towards it.

The closer he got he could tell that it had wheels. Intriguing. He kept moving towards it. Finally, he was upon it and he saw what it was.

A wheelbarrow. He perked up slightly at that. That could be useful. He could push her until she were feeling well.

He looked around. Wheelbarrows were commonly used by farmers or gardeners. There had to a place nearby.

Deciding he would return to her first, because he couldn't remember how long he'd been gone, he grabbed the barrow and started pulling it back. If nothing else, it would make the trip easier for her until she recovered.

How he would push it with one arm was another matter…

After awhile, the sun had started to beat down on him. He paused, looking to see the sun almost directly overhead. It must have been mid day, and he was gone longer than he intended to be. He pushed on, walking a considerable amount faster than before.

He started going up the final crest of the hill where she would be resting by the tree.

As he made it up and his eyes found what should have been her sleeping form, he froze in horror.

She was not alone.


	12. Terror and Torment

All the Difference.

* * *

Terror and Torment.

* * *

"The only way to a woman's heart is along the path of torment. I know none other as sure."

"And she confessed her love, only I shut her up;  
As I took her words and allowed them to rust.  
I don't know if I'm the man you truly want to love."

* * *

An invisible hand reached inside Sweeney's chest and clutched his heart fiercely, he felt it so deep he was stuck in place for a moment. For some unexplained reason, he at first could not fully comprehend the scene that was taking place before him, though it was still several yards away.

Was it fear that had gripped him so? Or was it anger? Or simply the thrill of knowing he would be killing again?

He let his hand slip from the barrow and he crouched a bit lower to the ground as he began to stalk towards the scene before him.

There were two men standing above Nellie Lovett. Both in straw hats, he noted, and his earlier prediction about there being a farm of some sort around was undoubtedly correct. A short distance away was a carriage, drawn by two thin horses.

They were large, the men, easily taller and stouter than he was, and both had full use of their arms, he had to remind himself. Four to one. He didn't want to admit the odds were not in his favor. But he had his razor, he did… Even now he felt the heated throbbing against his belt, calling out to him to be used.

No one had taken notice of his presence. He peered out from a tree when he was close enough to hear what they were saying.

"… Oh yes, this one looks right helpless and alone," the one standing above Nellie said as he grinned down at her. "Wait a tick, Horace, she looks injured too…"

"What's that?" The other farmer asked as he rummaged through their things. He pulled out her dresses and noticed the blood stains. "Oh, right. She has been a naughty one, take a look at this, Lawrence," he said, tossing the material over to his friend.

"Lotta blood for such a petite little thing, wouldn't you say? What have you been up to, eh? Answer me!" He demanded, kicking her in her bleeding side.

Nellie cried out in pain, clutching her side. She tried rolling away from them, but the farmer known as Lawrence planted his boots on either side of Mrs. Lovett's legs, trapping her.

Sweeney thought his moment came to make himself known, but as he made for Horace, he turned to join the other man, dropping their things uselessly back to the ground. He knew he could only take one at a time. Fuming silently, he strained his ears to listen.

"Please, please, I've done nothin'," she started to plead.

"Oh, that's where your wrong, missy," Horace said, chuckling, "This here is private property, you know what that means?"

Without waiting for her to answer, Lawrence said with a large grin, "It means you is on our land and now we get to do with you what we want."

He could see her wide, fearful eyes looking up at them, not believing what she was hearing. She saw her head spin around, no doubt searching for him, wondering where he was.

"Please, sirs, I didn't know- I-"

"'Course, we could just shoot her. Or hand her over to the authorities…" Horace said, pretending to contemplate by stroking his red beard.

Nellie's eyes grew even wider and she paled. "No…" She whispered, but no one seemed to hear her. At his words, Sweeney almost came running out from behind the tree. They didn't get so far away from London to return now.

"But, wait, then we couldn't have our ways with her," Lawrence pointed out, confused. Sweeney, upon hearing those words felt a new kind of feeling bubbling in his veins.

"I was just joking, you idiot. Ain't no sense in turning away what wanders so easily into our property. She ain't got no valuables or food, nothing. She'll prob'ly die out here anyway, and then them dogs will find her," Horace reasoned and removed his hat, tossing it to the side.

"No… No!" Nellie tried kicking at them and scooting away, still feeling too weak to get her feet, most likely. Sweeney clutched his razor more tightly, waiting for the perfect moment. There needed to be a distraction, or the men needed to separate so he could take them down one at a time.

"Lawrence, hand me that rope from the buggy. She's gonna be a fighter, I can tell you…" Horace bent down and grabbed Nellie by the throat, which instantly doubled the anger that was coursing through Sweeney's veins. That was his trademark, that was the tearful look she gave him. Horace pressed her into the tree she was leaning against.

Again, Sweeney started making his way over when he had to stop, cursing the timing of it all. Lawrence had returned with the rope and he started circling Nellie with it, tying her to the tree to prevent her escape.

There was rope under her chin, around her shoulders and breast and all the way to her injury where he pulled a bit tighter and they laughed when she yelped again, trying to wiggle out of it.

"There we are, that should speed things along," Horace said. "Now, I'll go first, then-"

"Hey, but I spotted her! You wouldn'ta noticed if I hadn't stopped the buggy," Lawrence said indignantly.

"Well, I'm older. And you got that last one first, I ain't forgotten, brother," Horace said.

Sweeney fumed. Contemplating over who would rape her first hardly seemed prudent. These vile creatures, disgusting vermin of the world… And Nellie had spotted him.

He stared back to her face, hers now covered in tears as she struggled uselessly against the rope. Her eyes were calling out to him, pleading with him for mercy, help, anything… He just needed the perfect moment, but…

Horace was undoing his trousers, and Nellie noticed to. She started struggling even harder, kicking trying to make them hurt from her lowly position, but it was useless. If she did make contact, she had not the strength to actually wound them. They chuckled and Lawrence stepped on her ankle, trapping her foot under his heavy boot.

Nellie panicked even further, now realizing she had just made their job easier. "Stop, please, leave me alone…"

With her free leg, she clamped her thighs together, hooking her shoe around her knee.

Horace laughed this time and grabbed her leg under her knee, forcing them apart. He was kneeling between her legs now, pushing her dress further and further up. She squirmed but if she managed to make progress, Lawrence would step harder and halt her actions.

Her dress was bunched up around her waist and Sweeney could see the pale flesh of her thighs, completely exposed to that ugly, abominable excuse for a human being. Something swelled inside of him, he did not know the name for it, but it made him feel white-hot and sick. The fact that these men were looking at her, degrading her… Sweeney couldn't take it anymore.

Trying to conceal his razor in his palm, he started walking towards the horrid scene before him.

Horace took no notice. Sweeney saw one of his hands disappear and Nellie cried out, begging him to stop uselessly.

"Hmm, this one's awfully tight for her age. You reckon she's a nun or something?" Horace laughed and Lawrence joined him

"You better make it quick, though, brother, I coulda swore I heard something moving a minute ago…"

Sweeney now stood behind Lawrence, out of view of Horace, and crept up behind him, trying not to make a sound. He would have the most advantage if he could completely surprise the two, and get rid of one quickly before the other had time to register what was happening.

He would have liked to take Horace first, but…

He took in a shallow breath, and willed Lawrence not to turn around. Willed him to become engrossed in what he was watching.

"No, please, no-no-no-!" Nellie cried, followed by a scream of pain and shock.

Sweeney almost tripped, right behind Lawrence as her scream pierced his ears. Horace was quicker than he thought. He was still just out of arm's reach, though.

"Mother of-" Horace grunted, "So tight, but so… dry, ngh…"

With every thrust, she cried out, and it pierced his ears each time. He counted five before he finally stood right behind the younger brother. Raising his arm, he curled it around Lawrence before the bloke realized what was happening. With a clean swipe, his throat was slit and blood sprayed out, all over Nellie and Horace.

They both looked up momentarily, wondering what the cause of the shower was. Nellie closed her eyes in relief while Horace staggered back from her, his trousers still around his ankles.

"What- What are you-"

Sweeney advanced on him, raising his razor as he moved. Horace yelled out in terror and turned to run, but tripped over his clothes and fell to the ground on his face.

Not wasting a moment, Sweeney fell to the ground on his knees and turned him over.

"I'm sorry, all right, I'm sorry, I didn't know she was yours-" Horace tried to explain and his words touched Sweeney for a moment. _His_…

"Come on, s-s-sir, I've got a wife back home m'self-"

But the little confession on spurred Sweeney's rage.

"And you would dishonor her by taking advantage of a defenseless woman? Oh no- Horace, was it? You deserve to die," Sweeney told him and lowered his razor to his throat.

"Please, please, no, don't do this-"

It was Sweeney's turn to laugh. "You expect mercy? Fool… your pleas, like Nellie's, will fall on deaf ears."

He sliced and the blood seeped out as Horace choked for a few moments before going still. Relief washed over him like a flood, and he hadn't realized how terrified he'd been. But he forgot that. Standing, he rushed over to Nellie.

She looked unconscious, but as he lowered her dress back over her legs, her eyes opened and he saw tears dropping out of them. Then he set about sawing the rope, because he had no patience to undo the knots riddled throughout them.

He did the one closest to her neck first, and noticed when they went limp the red mark half-circling her neck. He quickly did the others and cursed himself for ever leaving her. All the progress they had made just seemed pushed back. She would need much more time to heal now.

When she was free he heard a little sob escape her throat and he tried to help her sit up further. She drew her knees to her chest and crossed her arms in front of her as she huddled forward to protect herself. Without really even knowing what he was doing, the arm he had placed on her shoulder slid around her to the other shoulder and he pulled her into his chest.

She nestled into his chest and cried, her fingers clutching the front of his shirt.

Sweeney wasn't sure why he had done that, or why he continued to sit there, holding her with his good arm for comfort. He did save her. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he had not come back sooner. But she had saved him. They were really even now.

But he knew it was something else. Something else made him pull her into him, something eluding him now, but he could sense that he needed to hold her as much as she needed to be held.

As he stared down into her dark red curls, listening to her sniffs and shudders, he knew why what that man said before he died got to him.

She was with him. There was no one else in this world on whom he could rely, and he knew it was much the same for her. She had declared her love for him not too long ago, and it was sometimes hard to remember that under the circumstances she had said it. There had been so much happening, Lucy, the Judge…

Whether he liked it or not, this woman was his. But he couldn't really say that he disliked it. She was devoted to him, and would help him, when she was not so injured. She provided for him and took care of him. And he would do these things for her, for without her, where would he be?

He lost track of the time. The sun kept appearing and disappearing behind clouds, and not another soul wandered across them. As time wore on, he felt her arms sliding around his torso under his coat, grasping around him for more comfort and warmth.

His arm started to tire so he let it slip down further… resting it around her waist and pulling her just a bit closer to him. Her head nestled more fully into the crook of his neck, and he stared out at the land before them.

He was starting to doze. He hadn't felt tired at all this morning, but perhaps it was the proximity of their bodies, or it was the fact that he had just killed two men twice his size with one arm. As he felt the unconscious grabbing a hold he was startled awake by the neigh of a horse.

He jumped and looked over, suddenly remembering that those two fools must have arrived on a carriage. Maybe, even, she had called out to them for help.

Suddenly realizing all the time they were wasting when they had two horses to pull them, he decided it would be better to get her in the safety of that carriage. At least they would be moving and not sitting and waiting for the next visitor to ambush them.

Now… how to go about waking the woman up. He could not carry her with only one arm, or he would have. He was too aware of his hand latched onto her waist for safety. He didn't want to move, to end the security of their embrace, or to wake her up when she so desperately needed rest, but the horses would soon get hungry or bored and make their own way if they did not have a leader.

His hand moved up her back slowly, going with the curves and fabric of her dress to rest on her shoulder again. She did not rustle. He tried her arm, running his hand along her smooth, yet dirty and bruised skin. Her head moved a fraction of a centimeter.

"Nellie, come, let us get into that carriage so we don't have to walk anymore," he coaxed, pleased to see that it worked. She raised her head, her eyes still puffy and tired, bloodshot and sad. He got to his feet and reached down to help her, grabbing her arm and pulling it around his shoulder so he could help her walk to the carriage.

It was odd, her being so quiet. Usually she moved the conversation along, changing subjects, and asking questions, but he head was hung and he knew he wanted her to heal, not just for her own sake, but for his also.

She grabbed the handle since he was supporting her weight with his good arm, and he helped her inside. There was only room for two, it was a small carriage, but he saw sacks lining underneath the seat and pulled one out to investigate what was inside.

He heart and stomach leapt when he saw about a dozen apples safely stowed inside. Another held potatoes. The next revealed plums. Corn. Carrots. There was a jug of water, nearly full, and he reached for that first, pulling off the cork with a pop.

He lifted the jug to her lips and she drank until she started coughing lightly. He took a sip for himself and stowed it back under the seat.

This was most fortuitous. He saw overhead a scratchy blanket of wool and pulled it down to cover her. "I'll be back in a moment."

He went and gathered their own things, stuffing the dresses back inside and making sure everything was still there. He set it into the carriage beside the other sacks of food and he saw her turn her head to look at him.

"Thank you, Mr. T… I…"

He shook his head. "Get some rest."

He shut the door to the carriage and made sure nothing was amiss. They had all of their supplies, and then some, and the horses were getting restless. He climbed into the driving seat and grabbed the reins, jiggling them until the horses set off.

Now they just had to find some place. Somewhere to rest. All this running was wearing, and not only physically. He rarely slept more than an hour at a time, sporadically throughout the night. But all he wanted was a bed and time to sleep.

Not knowing where the horses were taking them, he let them go where they willed. He vaguely wondered if they were returning to the farm. Would a wife truly be waiting? Would it be worth it to kill her too, and whoever else may come, for their safety and a guaranteed place to rest?

For some reason, the thought of killing an innocent women was not very desirable. It never used to matter. Never, until… when? He thought hard, but came up with nothing. His brain was tired. He decided to stop putting so much thought into things, it was exhausting.

He looked past the horses trotting heads at their destination, wherever it would be. The sun was out once more, the ride was getting smoother, less bumpy. Perhaps they were close?

Deciding that the horses probably could manage without his full attention, Sweeney leaned back more comfortably and leaned his head back against the carriage. Just some rest, then he would be able to function right again…

He let his eyes drift closed and let the breeze blow over him.

There was no way of telling how much time had passed before he was jolted awake as the carriage came to a stop. Sweeney, in a fit of panic, had sprung to his feet, but now looked around cautiously.

It was a small farm house, with a large pen for the horses. He could see a garden and field all around the house and cats lounged lazily all around the property. All seemed quiet. He stepped down and decided to investigate inside before anything else.

He crept up to the door and tried the handle. Unlocked. He turned it and pushed the door open, letting it hit the back of the wall. Perhaps this would draw out any occupants.

After a solid minute, no one came to see what caused the disturbance, but he had to be sure. In his best impression of the farmer he killed hours ago, he called, "Lawrence?" Knowing the man was dead but he must have lived here.

Once another minute passed by, he resolved to search the place. He made his way through all the rooms, searching for any sign of life. There were portraits of the two farmers, but nothing else on the walls indicated any other person being there. No wife.

Satisfied, Sweeney went back to the carriage and opened the door to help Nellie out. She was groggy and disoriented, letting him drag her and lead her into the house mumbling questions, but not caring about his answer. There were two bedrooms, but he chose the larger for her.

He set her on the bed and helped her to lay on her uninjured side. He backed up looking down at her form, and she reached out to him slightly, her eyes barely open but pleading.

Unsure of what to do, he murmured, "I'll be back in a moment…"

He unhooked the horses and put them in their pen to graze and water. He pulled all the satchels from the carriage and grabbed their own and managed to bring them all back inside. He locked the door behind and made sure all of the others were locked too, as well as the windows. He closed all the shutters and then felt safe at last.

With all of that done, he returned to the room where Mrs. Lovett was laying, still curling her body and waiting for him, he just knew, something innate in him pushed him forward and laid him beside her, covering their bodies in blankets. He molded his body behind hers and felt the tension in her body ease into him.

She sighed, contented, and seemed to fall instantly to slumber. Sweeney stared at her fragile form in wonder. Again, his body acted of its own accord and his arm came around her, careful to avoid her bandaged wound.

He had never known such peace.


	13. Heavy In Your Arms

All the Difference.

* * *

Heavy In Your Arms.

And is it worth the wait all this killing time?  
Are you strong enough to stand protecting both your heart and mine?  
...I love you never felt like any blessing.

* * *

There were hands on her body, pulling, pinching, bruising; sneering faces in her vision, grinning, spitting, laughing; vile words in her ears, promises of gore, violence, and defiling acts; and most acutely, blinding pain between her legs. However, the only thing she was capable of registering was her own fear. Images were morphing and fading, flickering in and out of focus like ropes, straw, razors, boots, blood; oh, Sweeney. The trees towered over her and branches curled tightly around her limbs. Everything was dark and tunneled, but somehow she began to see.

Suddenly, everything shifted into focus and the two farmers were atop her, their bodies conjoined like horrible twins as their faces loomed in her periphery. Where was her savior? Hadn't she just seen him? Or was she just imagining...

Before she could find him the thing moved closer, their mouths opening as if to swallow her whole, and her own mouth opened to scream but it was not heard by a soul. Instead they, it, unleashed a furiously triumphant cry.

A most alarming and god-awful sound erupted from a distance yet also sounded as if it were right beside her ear. Twitching, her eyes flew open as she cried out and terror immediately swept over her. Realizing she was in a room she had never been in, in a bed she never slept in, and a rooster certainly not of London was crowing shrilly not far away; Nellie froze as she took in her surroundings, eyes searching wildly.

The remnants of her dream were tugging at the corners of her brain still, making her wary and unable to shake the grogginess from her head despite her fear.

Nothing was familiar about the place.

It smelled like lantern oil and livestock, there were few items in the room but what one would normally find in a bedroom (a lantern on the desk by a withering plant, a rather dim oil painting of a landscape on an otherwise bare wall, and a large barrel next to the coat rack,) and the only window in the room was loosely covered with a tattered, old sheet. She sprung up in her spot, ignoring the dull pain that shot through her abdomen, desperately trying to remember how she got here, when, why, by whom; but she could not ponder answers to her own questions for her mind went white as she felt movement next to her and she gasped while she tried to scramble frantically away, getting caught in the sheet and landing on the floor.

Nellie groaned as she clutched at the new pain in her head and hip now.

"What? What's going on-?"

At the sound of his voice the tide of fear that threatened to wash over and drown her subsided almost completely. If he was with her, she was not in immediate danger, she rationalized. But she was still disoriented and confused. The bed shifted and Sweeney's untidy head peered over, razor in hand. His eyes looked as alert as they usually were until he realized she was not in trouble. Visibly relaxing, he exhaled and set the razor down on the nightstand so he could lean over and pull her back onto the mattress.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes before he ran his fingers through his wild hair. She merely watched him in stunned silence until his gruff question made her jump.

"Are you all right?"

"Where are we? What happened?" She whispered, still anxious and feeling as if someone was going to pop out of a hiding spot any moment.

Mr. Todd swung his legs over the side of the bed and went to the window, blankets sliding off around him as he went. Nellie looked at the blanket and bed, and felt a minute twinge of pain between her legs, adding to her frenzied, jumbled thoughts. She held her breath waiting to hear his story.

"Do you remember yesterday at all?" He asked, voice low and gravelly.

Nellie put a hand to her forehead to stop the throbbing from starting as she tried to recall. "I... I remember us walking for awhile and then... my side, it started bleeding again and you..." as she spoke the sequence of events they all came rushing back to her. The hunger, the pain, the sleep.

And suddenly she remembered all too well her great surprise at being woken up by a kick in her thigh, prodding to see if she was alive.

Their faces leered down at her when she fluttered her eyes open expecting Mr. Todd to be leaning over her.

He was now, though, frowning at her a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

She slowly looked up at him, the knowledge washing over her. "Oh, I'm so sorry..." she sobbed, feeling thick with tears and shame.

His frown deepened and he kept opening his mouth, but couldn't remember or decide what to say until he finally sputtered, "You- what are you sorry for?"

Nellie was about to answer, until she realized she didn't know. What was she apologizing for? For making him save her again? For not being any help? Getting injured in the first place? Being a woman? None of those were her fault specifically, but then why did she feel so horrible?

So she picked the reason most reasonable. "It was entirely my fault, my injury-"

"Had nothing to do with it," he cut in with surprising conviction. Nellie blinked, baffled, but he went on. "If any soul is to blame, it would be I who left you alone and defenseless."

He did look very guilty when he said it but Nellie refused to put blame on him. "No, but you wouldn't have had to if I-"

"It is done. I took care of them and it won't happen again. Understand?"

Sweeney's eyes held that haunted look as he stared so deeply into her eyes that she did understand. He was saying so much more than what he actually said.

She could only nod weakly in response and watch as he quickly rose to his feet and started going through their belongings. Nellie peered over curiously and noticed there were more sacks than before and frowned, but she couldn't ask how he acquired them as he left the room and his movements could be heard in another a few moments later.

Nellie stretched carefully noting the spots where her body protested most. Aside from the wound on her side, she wasn't in horrible shape, just scrapes and bruises.

When her arms were stretched above her head, she jumped when she felt his warm hand close around her own. "Come. I've drawn a bath for you."

Bewildered she let him lead her down a short hall and into the bath room. She noted the parts of the house she had seen were not well kept, the bath room included, but she had never seen a tub of water look so inviting. She drew towards it, watching the light steam rise temptingly.

How long had it been since she bathed?

"Can you... move all right?" He asked uncertainly from behind her.

Nellie nodded and managed to turn her head from the inviting water to murmur her thanks over her shoulder.

He nodded and left abruptly.

Carefully, Nellie pulled the over-large dress over head and dropped it carelessly to the floor. Then carefully she began removing her best dress, despite the blood and holes, and folded it before she set it on a chair in the corner. She managed to untie the corset, wondering why it was knotted so tightly because she never double-knotted it, and removed the rest of her under things.

A rather small mirror caught her eye as she was about to step in and the image was rather unsettling. There were far more cuts and bruises than she realized in bed and she looked rather abused, with fingerprints up and down her arms, legs, and more prominently around her neck. Shaking her head she used the help of the mirror to remove all her hair pins and let the curly mess of auburn fall down her back.

If only she had managed to grab her hairbrush.

The water was delightfully warm as she submerged, but once the water hit her side she hissed in pain. She prayed it was not infected and sunk down fully until the water rested just under the tops of her shoulders, waiting for the ache to dull.

Eventually, it did and she was free to start cleaning but as she looked around she saw no soap or shampoo, or even a flannel or towel to wash with. How utterly unfair...

"Mrs. Lovett?" Followed a soft knock.

"Yes?"

The door tentatively opened a crack and he peered in. Nellie noted his eyes widening a fraction when he spotted her in the tub, hair spilling over her shoulders modestly, and turned her body towards the porcelain tub.

Then he fixed a frown on his face and stared at nothing but the floor. "I found the toiletries in another room," he said and walked briskly into the room, set what he was holding on the floor beside the tub and left within a blink of an eye.

Nellie almost could have laughed at his reaction, but the veil hanging over them from yesterday was still in place.

She peered down over the side of the tub and smiled faintly at the bottle of shampoo, bar of soap, and the clean towel, but also a dress folded in between the cloth. Deciding she should work out her hair first she grabbed the bottle.

It was impossible to say how long it took to comb her lathered fingers through her hair but it gave her plenty of time to recall the events of the previous day in full detail.

The looks on the farmer's faces were burned into her brain, the only thing she saw when she closed her eyes. They had been hideous-looking, grinning down at her like Christmas had come early.

She hadn't meant to doze off. But Sweeney had been gone for so long and her side had been throbbing, she had only wanted to dull the pain a while.

The larger one had touched her, but it was so much more than touch. He had invaded her, her body and soul simultaneously. Tied to a tree and helpless... just thinking of her own vulnerability depressed and angered her. Why did she have to be injured? Why didn't she have any sort of weapon on her like Mr. Todd?

But... he had saved her again, and from a fate worse than death if you asked her. If only one man had caused her such pain physically and mentally for only a few seconds, what might've both done to her?

Nellie shivered involuntarily as she reached for the soap below, starting to scrub diligently.

Chills erupted on her skin when she recalled seeing Sweeney coming to her rescue. His razor was already in hand so he had it when he needed it. But what drew her attention was the predatory swagger in his walk as he sauntered up to the scene silently, ready to strike. His eyes were bright and gleaming with a rage she vaguely remembered seeing when he spoke of Judge Turpin. Relief, shame, and guilt rooted in her mind when she spotted him but then she could only focus on prolonging the inevitable before it would all be okay, but she was just not good enough.

Her protests and struggles were weak and the scoundrels had secured her well; Mr. Todd was still too far away by time the first painful thrust forced its way in.

From that moment, things were hazy until she felt she was safe in Sweeney's good arm and she let the weakness take over her, submerging herself in his comfort.

It was really cruelly ironic the most ghastly event in her life also led to the most beautiful.

Standing slowly, she felt the water running down her body and noticed the bath water was a murky brown now. She would have liked to rewash, but she had already lost track of time and felt a twinge of guilt for Sweeney. He must be just as grimy as she was.

Hurriedly, she dried off and wrung out her hair as best she could so she could redo her hair properly, but after only a few minutes and frustration over the tangled pins, she gave up and left it down. Finally, she picked up the dress and slid it over her head, smoothing it out around her curves. It was off-white and a memory flickered into her head from the bake house.

She shook her head lightly, wanting to forget that entire night in one. It was only a dress.

Gathering her dirty clothes, she left and returned to the bed room to find he wasn't there. She dropped her things and went searching for him.

He was found in a kitchen, sitting at a table and staring down at it, so absorbed he didn't hear her enter as he normally would have.

She walked over noiselessly and pulled out a chair, finally breaking his trance. He shot to his feet and walked over to the counter.

"Found these in the cupboard," he said as he returned, setting a bag of corn muffins between them. All that hunger she felt yesterday returned in double as she grabbed one but frowned when the muffin felt rock hard in her fingers.

"We can't eat these," she stated dryly, tossing it back into the bag.

Sweeney frowned. "It's not as if they belong to anybody... anymore," he amended thoughtfully.

"I'm not concerned with that, love, I'm concerned about us breaking our teeth, actually," she informed him, moving to the cupboards herself and checking each one. "I could whip up some more though, if you like."

She pulled out a heavy sack of cornmeal and looked back at him with raised brows. He was inspecting the muffin himself, frowning deeper when it didn't even lose its shape as he brought it down against the table hard.

He noticed her amused look and dropped the bag, shrugging. Nellie took it as his consent.

Relieved, she was, to put all her thoughts away so she could focus on baking. She found a chicken coup outside and grabbed as many eggs as she could carry back into the house. Under a sink was a large bowl she rinsed and dried before she added the cornmeal and eggs, mixing until it was the right consistency.

She was surprised to turn and see Sweeney helping to light the fire in the oven and searching through more cabinets to find a muffin tray.

"Thank you," she chirped and rinsed and dried the tray as well. He was still hovering around her so she decided to get the rest of the story out of him. "So what happened after... after, you know," she asked, scooping batter into the tray.

For a moment she thought he wasn't going to answer but again, she was startled to look up and see he was right behind her, just watching.

He met her eyes briefly before pacing away, searching through the rest of the kitchen. "I noticed that carriage they must have been using. I suspected already there was a farm nearby, so I simply put the two together and the horses led us here."

She looked up again uncertainly. "And there was no one here?"

He shook his head and then snorted derisively. "Bleeding liar..."

"What?" She asked, wiping her hands off on the dish cloth.

Sweeney looked over at her and away again before he said, "The bastard claimed to have a wife when he was pleading with me to spare his life."

Nellie felt a surge of anger course through her, not having remembered those details. But then, she had been thinking of much worse things. "I wish you had kept him alive-"

"What?" Sweeney snapped at her, that same rage from yesterday evident on his face.

"-so I could have slit his throat myself," she finished, picking up the tray and sliding into the oven rack.

He looked slightly taken aback, but mumbled, "Oh..."

"But Mr. Todd- Sweeney?" She tried his name again, remembering how he had called her by her name and how wonderful it felt.

His eyes swiveled back to hers as she started approaching him and she could have sworn he leaned away some.

"I... thank you. I can't thank you enough for what you put a stop to..." she said softly, reaching to put a hand on his cheek.

He flinched but didn't move; in fact, she thought she heard him inhale deeply the scent of her skin before forcing his eyes open and nodding his head once before striding back to table and sitting stiffly in the rickety chair once more.

Nellie smiled and followed him to the table, marveling at how delighted she could feel in present circumstances, but thanked the Fates anyway.

They sat and waited for their first meal in over three days to bake while they discussed what their next move from there should be.

Nellie knew she shouldn't feel happy, or anything at all since yesterday's events but she couldn't help it. Some small voice in her head was whispering to her that things were changing, he was changing, and with that knowledge she didn't feel afraid of anything.

* * *

No, I have not abandoned this, or any of my stories. I finally have a laptop with internet again, like I could never go to the library and update from there or a friends house. PTSD is a big hassle.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy, if there are any of you left, hahah. I will do my absolute best to make updates more regular now.


	14. Sober

All the Difference.

* * *

Why can't we not be sober?  
Why can't we drink forever?  
I just want to start this over…  
I will only complicate you; trust in me and fall as well.

* * *

Over breakfast, Nellie convinced Sweeney they should stay for at least a day. She didn't really fancy the old farm house, and it was more than unsettling considering who it belonged to, but she figured they might as well make the most of the place they had to themselves.

They certainly could make use of the laundry station, cleaning their clothes and hanging them in back yard to dry on the line that was set up already. And they could search the house for more essentials before they set off again.

As morbid as it sounded, she felt lucky they had a full house to themselves, even just for a little while. She was already planning a large supper so they could have a proper meal before they set off in the morning.

She sent Sweeney off to bathe after he protested, but she reminded him it was the only bath he would probably get for quite awhile.

Once he relented and disappeared down the hall, Nellie made her way back to the bed room and went to inspect what he'd found in the carriage.

She rummaged through the satchels, pleased they wouldn't go hungry until all the food spoiled. She saw the medical supplies from their own bag and remembered with a guilty grimace she hadn't tended to Sweeney's bullet wound in too long.

She set everything out on the night stand by the bed and waited for his return but she did not have to wait long.

Sweeney walked through the doorway wearing his same dirty clothes, hair dripping and oddly flat against his head.

"You weren't supposed to put those back on," she chided lightly, smiling. "Takes away all your cleanliness."

Frowning, he just stood there looking away.

"Here," she said, reaching into the bag and pulling out his only other set of clean clothes. "Put these on so I can wash those."

"I really don't think we should stay-"

Nellie waved him off, handing him the garments. "It's just for a night, Mr. T, and we need the rest. You remember them saying it was private property, don't you? And they being the only ones who lived here, we don't have to fret about unwelcome visitors."

Sweeney opened his mouth to start another argument but Nellie had a good idea as to what he would say and spoke before him, "If there are policemen following us I doubt they could trace us to here."

He grimaced, taking the clothes from her still looking uncertain but she said again almost pleadingly this time, "Only for the night."

He looked down at her for a few moments, betraying nothing of his emotions as his eyes rolled over her face until he softly said, "One night."

Nellie waited to hear his footsteps growing quieter and he was a safe distance away to call after him, "Don't bother with the shirt, I need to have a look at that bullet wound."

His footsteps faltered but quickly continued and a door clicked shut distinctly. Was he hoping she'd forgotten?

Again she waited, busying her hands with the bottles on the table. When he returned again he looked very sullen but didn't say anything as he sat down by her stiffly on the bed.

Carefully, she peeled off the old bandage and inspected the tiny hole on his upper back. "Looks like its healing," she noted and smiled at his grunt in response. Nellie cleansed the wound, keeping one hand on his shoulder to steady him despite the way his muscles tensed under her grip.

He did not jerk or hiss, he barely even winced, but for her hand on his shoulder she wouldn't know he was in pain. Such a proud man, she thought to herself.

Or was showing weakness sometimes not a good thing? Nellie recalled talking him down a few times in the past, and even helped him walk when he didn't have the strength. She never really received thank-you's because he never acknowledged those moments in retrospect.

Once it looked much better than before, she was satisfied and started taping the gauze back over the wound.

"You know, I should probably help you move your arm," she suggested mildly, eyes flickering to see the first emotion that crossed his profile. Confusion?

"Had to do it for Albert when he couldn't walk, you know. Doctor Troll-" she abruptly cut off, remembering the unfortunate fate of the man. It was Sweeney who turned to see her reaction to her own words that made Nellie blush and continue, "The doctor said it would help when he regained his strength, so I wouldn't have to teach him how to walk and eat and all that over again. Although," she added thoughtfully, "He didn't ever recover; just ate and drank himself to death."

Sweeney was glancing at her uncertainly now so she went on a bit. "Be a shame if you got your arm back and it was too weak to do anything."

Evidently, she had said the magic words because he grunted, "All right."

Nellie stood and walked over to the other side of him and picked up his left hand until it was extended. "Feel anything?" She asked just to make sure.

"Nothing," he grumbled.

She moved his arm around, stretching bending, and extending it; curling his fingers into a fist and reaching it high above his head.

Between each movement she asked, "Now?" and he answered, "No," each time for a good quarter of an hour until she wrapped her hand around his again stretched upwards and stopped when he jumped a little, head snapping up.

"What? Did I hurt you?"

"No, I think I... felt something," he told her in disbelief, looking up at his arm.

"You did? Where?" Without really thinking about her other hand reached out and traced his arm.

He frowned slightly. "It was a twinge or something; started at the shoulder and down to my wrist."

She kept moving his arm, asking if he felt it again when she raised it, but it did not happen again.

He looked gloomier than before.

"Don't worry, love, it was good you felt something at any rate," she told him, handing him his shirt and finding a new sling. "Most likely means the feeling will return soon."

She adjusted his arm in the sling until it was properly fitted and he mumbled his thanks.

As she started gathering clothes to wash, he interrupted her by putting his hand on her wrist making her spin and stop in her tracks.

"Your turn."

Maybe she should have expected it but she didn't protest, only let him lead her back to the bed. "Can you get out of that?" He asked nodding to her dress.

Blushing, Nellie slid her arm out of the sleeve and tried to slide it down far enough but the neckline of the dress was not wide enough. She grunted in frustration and was about to start complaining when he touched her shoulder. "Lay on your stomach."

She complied, feeling his warm hand guide her down. She turned her head on the pillow so she could see him, read his face.

He hooked a finger under the opposite side of her dress and started pulling down that side as well. Blood was rushing in her body, making her heart beat faster but she had to keep telling herself he was only undressing her to get to her wound.

Kneeling on the ground he grabbed the disinfectant and poured it slowly over the cloth on the stand. He started dabbing gently, but she couldn't keep from wincing as the liquid bubbled and stung.

"It appears much better than yesterday," he told her quietly but she had seen the grisly cut this morning. If it looked better today she shuddered to think what it looked like before.

She watched his face, the frown lines smoothed out and a look of concentration sculpting his features. Now that his hair was drying it fluffed out to its usual unruliness.

When he finished putting a fresh bandage on he stood and helped her arms back into the dress and took her hand to help her sit up. Then he started to unwrap the bandages on her palms to check the healing progress there.

They were both glad to see them sealing up and he discarded the dirty cloths.

Nellie smiled up at him and thanked him, then promptly started collecting the laundry again. "Sweeney, would you mind repacking that carriage and getting one of those chickens ready?" She asked carefully, balling up the clothes in her arms.

"Of course." And he was out the door.

*  
Sweeney had already prepared a chicken and was cleaning the entrails out for their supper that night.

Admittedly, he didn't like the idea of staying in one place now, but the more logical side of him let Nellie convince him they needed the rest. They both had wounds that needed recovering and the more energy they used the slower the healing process would take.

He actually didn't mind the farm itself, and wouldn't be object to something similar in the future…

If he- they- had one.

When he came back inside the house Nellie was fussing about the kitchen, lighting the stove, and preparing ingredients. There was already a pleasant aroma wafting through the halls and she hadn't begun cooking yet.

Sweeney's stomach stirred.

He deposited the chicken in the pan she had prepared and finally noticed his reappearance. "Oh, thank you, love, that's perfect." She picked the pan up and brought it over to her counter where she began basting and seasoning diligently.

After a few moments of standing there lamely, watching her, he decided to see if there wasn't anything else useful they could take along with them.

He roamed the house again, searching through cupboards and drawers and closets, but finding nothing. He had already packed the carriage full of supplies. All the food they could carry, for that Nellie had insisted on, claiming they wouldn't know when their next meal would be if not. Extra clothes and blankets, though tattered and thin, they would be of great help when the weather turned colder. Sweeney had already looked through every room and grabbed all the weapons out of them; a rifle, two revolvers, and all the knives. One of the farmers even had a shaving kit stowed in the bathroom cupboard that Sweeney had to admit was a fine razor.

But everything else the house held had no use for them. The former occupants didn't have many personal hygiene objects, including anything medical; no extra bandages, no leftover antiseptics, not even any toothpaste. Nellie wouldn't be too thrilled, but they still had supplies from their doctor's visit and so long as they used everything sparingly, they would not run out.

After about an hour or so the smell of roasting chicken was filling up the house and Sweeney could ignore his rumbling stomach no more. He made his back towards the kitchen to find Mrs. Lovett.

When he reached the room, he stood in the threshold a moment, taking in the sight of the woman before him.

Her hair had dried, and long, ruby-colored curls cascaded down her back and spilled over her shoulders whenever she bent down. He had never thought she had long hair, or thought about her hair much at all since it was not in yellow waves and always done up in that messy concoction she managed to pull off. But tonight as her hair hung free her strands caught in the lamps and candlelight and seemed to glow off of her head.

Her brow was set and determined in her task and she moved about the kitchen efficiently, checking the stove, cutting vegetables, and churning butter. He watched the way her thin but strong arms worked and her petite legs carried her with more grace than he had ever noticed before.

Was she always this way when baking? So concentrated and dedicated to her art like he was while shaving? How had he not noticed before?

Somehow without realizing it, he had taken a few steps into the kitchen and when she turned her back from the stove and spotted him she smiled warmly, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Not much longer, love, I just put the vegetables in to cook. Care for some tea?" She asked grabbing a kettle off of the stove as it whistled and steamed.

Taken-aback at being discovered, Sweeney could only nod and take his seat at the table, looking pointedly down at the hard wood and nothing else.

His sudden notice in Nellie Lovett unnerved him. Before she had been nothing; merely his landlady in the background there to assist him and answer to him when he needed her to, but when had it changed?

When had he started seeing her as more of an equal?

As a woman?

The hot earl grey on his throat was a pleasant deterrent to his current thoughts. He sipped his tea and kept his head down, looking up only for a few moments to see where she was in the room, and then kicking himself mentally for it.

His thoughts should still only be centered on Lucy, his dead, dead wife. And he did still think of her, but most of his waking and unconscious thoughts had shifted to another.

Another delicious wave of aroma hit the room and he looked up to see her taking the pan from the oven and placing it on the counter. He never realized how much he missed her cooking, not just pies and muffins, but real meals.

And she put all of her weak strength into making it that day. Surely her injuries must have still been bothering her, but she slaved anyway. For them, or him, he wasn't sure of which but felt grateful either way.

Sweeney watched her going about carving the chicken with a small smile on her lips, and he realized she must be as hungry as he felt.

How long had it been since he really considered the needs of another human body? Or stopped ignoring his own?

She was searching for plates now and then pouring herself another cup of tea and putting the kettle on the table before bringing the plates to the table.

When she placed his plate in front of him, he could only stare in awe for a few moments. Never had a meal looked so good to him, so appealing he found the juicy looking chicken next to the seasoned vegetables, all steaming hot.

He looked up into her face and she was looking down at his, and unspoken emotion passed through them. She had served him many times at their previous home, but she always left after and let him eat in peace, or torment rather, as he never felt peace in those days.

But now, even whilst on the run from the law and in an unfamiliar home, unsure of anything but the woman next to him, Sweeney felt peace.

Nellie sat in the seat next to him and refilled his cup before they both tucked in to their meal.

The silence between them was content, they didn't chatter throughout on account of their hunger, but it was a mutual silence that comforted them both.

He supposed this was their first shared supper; and he was trying to decide why it felt like such an event, why he was slightly obsessing over it in his mind and why they kept looking into each other's eyes while they chewed.

Did she feel the same way? He was sure she did, he imagined she was rejoicing inside right now. But then why was she keeping the comfortable silence around and not ruining it with her idle ramblings as she normally would have?

She did not smile coyly at him like she would have, like there were a naughty secret between them. Her expression was blank, but not empty, just content.

However, much had happened in the short time since they had left Fleet Street. He felt a change in himself reverberating off the hollows of his chest, so why should there not be a change in his baker?

They ate all they could and after their meal she cleared the table of all the dishes and cups and then returned to the table. "Found this in the back of the cupboard. Not our usual, but I think it will do tonight."

Looking up to see what she was talking about he saw a slender bottle of red wine in her hand. The drink did seem oddly appealing at the moment. She poured two glasses full, but not in a wine glass for there weren't any she had explained, so they were in regular drinking glasses.

With a jerk of her head she motioned for him to follow her into the sitting room where the fire had been going all day. It was a small room, but cozy despite the mismatched furniture and strange items adorning the walls. Odd paintings, animal horns, pictures of the farmers and who could only be their family.

They sat in the worn loveseat in front of the fire, avoiding eye contact with the pictures while they drank the sweet wine.

Sweeney couldn't remember the last time he drank wine. Nellie obviously favored gin, as that was all she had in stock, and he didn't mind the stuff so never asked. But this one went well with the meal they just finished and was lulling the atmosphere until they were both reclining into the couch.

He was the one who refilled their glasses each time they went empty, and they merely coexisted next to each other while a clocked ticked somewhere in the room.

The comfortable silence continued until Nellie finally got to her feet swaying only mildly.

"Where are you going?" Sweeney demanded a little alarmed at her sudden movement, and then his equally nervous question.

"Can't stand it anymore, these ugly pictures leering down at me," she said, walking unsteadily over to the frames mounted on the fire place.

The barber watched with interest as one by one Nellie began to take the pictures from the frames and tossed them into the fire, the flames hissing and growing each time. Once the photographs were no more than ashes, she replaced the frame on the mantle, leaving an empty piece of wood.

By the time she was done, he couldn't argue that it was much improved.

She wiped her hands together sighing contentedly. "That actually was quite liberating," she stated, smiling back to him and taking the last gulp of her wine. "You should try it too."

In a matter of seconds, she had grabbed his good hand dragged him to his feet. He didn't protest; perhaps it was the wine, but he _wanted_ to join her. He wanted to eliminate everything left of those farmers with her.

Still, she smiled up at him, the wine glazing over her eyes and her finger lacing with his as she led him over to a wall adorned with more frames filled with unpleasant photographs.

Then together, they went about destroying every memory of the house's former occupants. The wine had loosened them both up and before either of them knew it Nellie was dancing through the room burning pictures and rearranging everything. Sweeney was strolling by pictures with his razor in hand and slashing at them at random to tiny pieces until they ran out of frames.

Now the walls were filled with empty pictures and it definitely made the atmosphere better in the room he started circling the room, turning in a circle, taking everything in with new appreciation. The house was better now, and they both agreed silently through a look at each that they would continue this ritual through the rest of the house.

Nellie's lips parted as if she were about to speak, but Sweeney beat her and asked, "Which room next?"

They drank and danced and erased the farmers from their home. It could have been minutes or hours they spent diligently at their task, or no time at all. When they were finally done, they walked the house appreciatively, Nellie clinging to his arm a bit tightly.

There was certainly a stagger in their steps and they stumbled a few times, chuckling and righting their positions again. They had circled back to the sitting room and Sweeney made for the wine, frowning when he discovered all that remained was the last few drops. Nellie laughed and then suggested they go outside for some air. He didn't know what to make of her offer but he felt full and warm from the food and wine so he shrugged and followed her out into the garden.

Stars had begun to come out as the sky darkened and he lit the two lamps outside. Nellie was walking through the grass barefoot and running her fingers through the tall grass and flowers. It seemed now, like so often lately, he was able to do nothing but stand there and gaze at her.

After about only two minutes of taking her in strolling and bending to pick a flower to inhale its scent or moving her mass of hair to one side avoid it falling into her face, he made up his mind.

Nellie had changed, it mattered not how or why or when, but he liked this version of her, the honest, a little fearful, but still head-strong Nellie who needed his protection and needed to protect him.

He was struck with a rush of longing, to walk with her, to put that daisy behind her ear, to laugh. But he was not there yet, he was still struggling so hard to acknowledge what was happening he only managed to start walking towards her post at the fence, leaning on it and looking up at the sky.

As he drew nearer, she lowered her head and her gaze met his. Strangely, he just then seemed to notice that he was close enough to kiss her, as all those other times when he had been trying to do the opposite, but this was the first time he had been so, so close to her and was not thinking of hurting her.

Her smile never faltered and she did not move; did not reach out to him or get closer, she only lounged against the post and let the moonlight bathe her skin, nearly blue in the nighttime.

For the first time Sweeney Todd admitted Nellie Lovett was beautiful; not out loud, but to himself.

Those wildly red curls twisting around her face, her warm brown eyes reflecting the moon, her skin almost illuminated. Yes, she was beautiful in a way that was perhaps different than Lucy, but nonetheless, he wanted to reach out to her, to touch that blue skin…

Instead, his voice came out surprisingly softly even to his own ears as he reached out his hand and said, "Let's go to bed."

He thought he saw her cheeks redden in the dimness but she nodded and accepted his hand let him lead them to the room they had slept in the night before. They had spent the past few nights sleeping together so neither of them thought it strange to do so now.

The house was warm from the fire and neither of them wanted to sleep in their heavy clothes. Turning their backs to each other, they stripped to their underclothes and climbed into the bed, carefully avoiding each other's eyes.

Nellie began braiding her hair, never able to sleep with it down and Sweeney lay on his good arm, happening to face her. He watched her fingers moving quickly, obviously accustomed to this routine. He noticed the way her neck arched and curved and fell down to the slender curve of her shoulder and formed her back, mostly covered by the thin slip she wore under her dress.

When she finished and knotted her hair, she eased onto her back and settled into the bed, her shoulder just an inch from his chest. Her face turned towards his and he did not look away from her like they both expected him to. Instead he held her gaze, but began to frown as he knew what he wanted, but how to say it… that he did not know.

So he didn't say anything, they just stared into each other for long minutes until he finally felt his hand moving, on its own accord, and tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb. Somehow, he would never know how, she knew what he wanted and curled her body into his, her head resting against his chest and letting him slip his arm around her, lowering his head to the top of hers.

Her warm body was welcomed against his and he drew strength from the comfort of their embrace, letting himself not think of anything or analyzing the situation, the wine did a fine job clouding up that for the night.

They let the sounds of their breathing and the feelings of their beating hearts lull them into sleep.

* * *

A HUGE thank you to anyone still reading this.


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